Flowers for the Dead
by the savage barbie
Summary: Clove throws a knife that changes her fate and the fate of Panem forever. — Foxface x Clove. AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: **Some Quick Facts About This Fic:  
Chapters: **30  
 **Pairing:** Foxface x Clove  
 **Rated:** T for intense nongraphic violence, sexual themes, mild coarse language and violent references.  
 **Notes:** This is my first fic for the _Hunger Games_ fandom. I just really love this ship and it doesn't have many fics for it, so I decided to write my own. The POV alternates once halfway through each chapter. It is 98% based on the book universe (with a _huge_ AU butterfly-effect) but borrows some from the movie universe. That's about it for important tidbits. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

 **FLOWERS FOR THE DEAD**

* * *

 _The weak would never enter the kingdom of love.  
-Gabriel Garcia Marquez-_

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

"Solanine Jones!" calls out the District Five escort.

The Town Square remains silent. No one rejoices as Valentina Nyxeris scans the crowd, searching for the girl whose name was on the slip of paper in her hand.

It takes a few moments to register that she announced _my_ name. My expression remains blank—but not vacant—as I force my legs to propel me towards the stage. I take slow, deep breaths, refusing to look frightened on television, and continue my silent and steady march until Valentina Nyxeris grabs my wrist with her soft, manicured hand and helps me up.

I wonder if the square truly is struck soundless, or if I am just so panicked and overwhelmed that I cannot hear them. The halfhearted applause does not answer my question, but it does snap me back to reality.

Moments later, Valentina draws the name of a boy I do not know called Aster Smith. I watch him tremble as he blatantly suppresses tears. As much as I pity him, I do not want to know him. District Five often does not make it past the bloodbath.

Cordelia Shepherd and Volt Collins—two of the four victors in my district—usher us from the stage along with five peacekeepers. They take us into the Justice Building and situate us in separate rooms to say our goodbyes.

My eleven-year-old brother, Fission, is my only visitor.

"Sol," he cries out, his chest shuddering from the pain of loss. "Sol, you need to live, okay? I can't live if you don't live."

I hug him and ruffle his hair. Usually, in my family, we do not show affection openly, but I think right now is an exception. He must feel the same way because he tightly returns the embrace and tolerates my fingers in his brunet locks.

Fission grabs me by the wrist and presses a token into my palm. Once he reluctantly releases me, I look down at the cold metal. It is a priceless comb I stole from the wealthiest woman in town. She never even noticed it was gone; it was buried in the bottom of a closet, dusty and unloved.

I rarely went for objects that were not edible, helpful for survival or easy to trade on the black market. It drew my attention, though, screaming out my name. The silver sparkled even though it was dark and the turquoise stones set in it only made it more desirable.

"Where did you find this?" I whisper, since I can never wear it openly.

"It was in your box. The one that has mom's stuff in it," Fission says.

I have a wooden case. In it is every memory of my mother I own. My favorite is the book of plants I always take out when I cannot sleep. That is where she found my name. Sol is a very common name in Five, but she would not settle for Solanna or Solaris. She sought a name everywhere but then found it by accident in an old book my grandmother gave her. Solanine. It was in the entry for nightshade.

The comb reminds me of the book, the note she left me the night before she died, little tidbits. Even if it was not my mother's, it lived in that hiding place for long enough to carry some of the memories with it.

Maybe that reading material will help me in the Arena; I know what wild plants are safe to eat and which bring certain death.

After examining the comb and suppressing the tears in my eyes, "I promise I'll come home," I say, quietly but firmly. "I'm… it might be interesting. I've always wondered about the Capitol and now I get to discover it up close. And you know I have a leg up."

He does. His eyes light up as he thinks about the way I have provided for my family for the past several years.

I, Sol Jones, am a thief. And a good one.

[X]

Still as a statue, I sit on the train. My silence makes me fade into the background. Cordelia and Volt do not seem to notice I am in the room as they and Aster watch the replays of the Reapings. Volt is out of his mind and half-asleep on pills I noticed him take when Cordelia was focused on Aster's sobbing. Valentina has her hands clasped and a dizzy smile on her fuchsia lips. However, my female mentor insisted we study the competition.

I agree with her; I would have done it anyway.

In District One, I see a girl who deeply draws my attention. When she smiles at the cameras, the chill in my bones does not come from fear, but an uncomfortable attraction. Her district partner has arrogance in his eyes that anyone could see from a mile away, or so I assume.

In District Two, I see a girl and boy coldly and calmly volunteer in an impressively orderly fashion. They keep themselves frigid and emotionless as the stone their District harvests, up until the point I see them flash a fleeting, agonized glance at each other. I wonder if they are forced to volunteer for some reason, or if something else concerns the duet.

The other districts fly by. I see fear and pain, even in District Four. The girl is a volunteer, but not as professional as District One and Two, while the boy is Reaped against his will.

Not a single tribute is out of the ordinary except for District Twelve.

The sight brings tears to my eyes as my thoughts linger on the brother I have always provided for, always taken care of. Although I had hoped to keep quiet, when the people in the square touch three fingers to their lips and extend their arm, I ask, "What does that mean?"

Aster jumps, Volt looks confused, and Cordelia casually looks up and meets my gaze.

"I don't know," she remarks, turning in her chair to fully face me. Her strawberry-blonde hair gleams in the fluorescent light. "You've been very attentive. You're a curious girl, aren't you? Good. You don't look strong, yet you look unafraid. Why is that?"

"I've been through worse than the Games," I softly say, averting my eyes.

Cordelia now stands. "I hope you mean that."

She studies me, and then exits the television car.

No one else speaks to me for the remainder of the afternoon.

[X]

When we leave the speedy train, my eyes flicker around the crowd, trying to avoid distraction by the flashing cameras, taking in every motion of a reporter, scream of my name or thrilled wave of a teenager's hand. I take slow breaths and maintain an erudite expression, in hopes that they will believe I have a plan. I don't, but the Hunger Games are a fantasy to the people of the Capitol. If I play a part, perhaps they will fall for it.

I'm separated from my mentors and partner and ushered into a room where I'm swiftly surrounded by three blindingly colorful and eager women. Their names are Aelia, Domitilla and Nerva. The latter two women are locked in a conversation together as they put me through a series of torments I did not know existed.

Aelia runs her fingers through my hair with her violet eyes widened.

"This color is _amazing_. Is it natural?" she asks.

"Yes," I quietly reply.

"I guessed that! You simply _can't_ mix those perfect golden highlights—and _oh_ the _red_ —in a bowl!" she gushes as Domitilla and Nerva pull me away from her and introduce me to waxing.

The wonders of the Capitol are not wonderful, in my opinion.

[X]

A willowy woman with wispy purple hair rests her tattooed arms on my shoulders as she examines every inch of a body that no longer feels like mine. The silk robe wrapped around me does not protect me from the strong air conditioning; the goosebumps on my now-hairless skin ache.

"I'm Septima and I'm your stylist, as I'm sure you've figured out by now. I've been working on my plans for a month; I assure you you'll make a splash." Pause. "I adore your hair," she comments, flipping a lock of it with her long fingernails. "I don't think I've seen anything exactly like it. It'll be hard not to notice."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I thoughtless admit. She cocks her head like a confused puppy. "It'll be hard to hide from the other tributes when they can see my hair from a mile away."

Septima laughs. I don't understand the joke, but I keep my lips sealed.

She whips out fabric from a garment bag and sets it on my lap, "Let me just adjust this to your size and we'll have you ready in no time."

 _No time_. It seems humorous when I do not think I have ever been in a situation that felt longer than this, but I have already decided that the people of the Capitol will take more time for me to dissect and understand than I anticipated.

My dress is… interesting. The tributes tend to be garbed in silver, or power-plant worker outfits. Once, they were dressed up in sparkling golden fabric that seemed to fit District One better than District Five. This year, I hold a dark grey gown with strands of bright white lights crisscrossed on it, forming a glistening, luminescent bodice.

Septima stands behind me as I look in the mirror. Our dual reflections blur together.

"You're very beautiful." She pokes her sharp nail into my spine and I barely suppress a yelp. "If only you'd stand up straight…"

I touch the blinking lights on my chest. "These are tight… and a little…"

"Noticeable?" Septima smirks. "You can't hide from me, and you don't want to hide from the sponsors and tributes. Even if you dye your hair brown and slouch even further, I don't think anybody could miss the look in your eyes."

I squint, but notice nothing in the blue irises.

"I have a lot of practice at hiding. My brother always laughs at it. He's always been an expert at fitting in. I've been a master of blending in. There's a big difference," I explain. Septima disarms me; I don't think I've ever spoken to someone other than Fission about that comparison.

"It's not a bad strategy, but I don't think you realize the effect you could have if you wanted."

"I don't want to have an effect. I want to be a shadow."

Septima smirks again. "Alright then, little shadow. I'll tell you a secret." She leans in and whispers in my ear, "This year's uniforms have hoods."

I try not to smile often, but I can't stop myself this time.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

The District Two escort, Satin Athens, holds up the metallic microphone to my lips.

"I, Clove Conium, volunteer as tribute," are the words I have rehearsed since I was a child.

My life at the Academy has not been perfect, but I know it was the right path for me. After my father died in a quarry accident, my mother gave me to the Academy. I was barely seven - the minimum age for entry - and I have known nothing but preparation for today. My success is all my own prowess, giftedness and drive.

I am a year away from eighteen and already am the best girl they had. A mentor—a _victor_ —took me as one of her potential tributes nine months ago, and I beat all the others in the final trials. Now, I have the opportunity to bring glory to my district and myself.

Anyone who ever doubted me must be agonized and humiliated, and nothing feels better than knowing that. And no thought satisfies me more than seeing the eighteen-year-olds I outperformed who now have no chances left.

When a young boy's name is called, my closest friend stands up and volunteers. I swallow and pretend not to care. Cato and I knew we would be chosen. They told us a few weeks ahead of time so that we would have time to prepare with our mentors.

It will be difficult to fight him. We always have been perfectly matched in combat, which is how our close friendship was born in the first place.

He glances at me with a flicker of pain in his eyes that I hope the cameras do not notice.

A year ago, Cato told me he was romantically interested in me. He kissed me; I punched him.

I cared for someone else more than him. He was arrogant and angry for two weeks before he came around. The girls always fawned over him anyway. He got over me with a series of lovers, or so I assume. People in the Academy do not have attachments. Not even friendships are acceptable, much less a romantic relationship.

My lesbian affair of eight months—with someone so much older even if I were outside of the Academy I would have kept under wraps—is a secret so as not to risk my chances of being chosen as tribute. Love is not in the career vocabulary. Me and Cato's comradery is common knowledge. I can tell from how Brutus and Enobaria look at us that they know as well as anyone it will complicate our path to victory and the Academy heads were fools to place us in the same Games.

I shake hands with Cato and let our mentors guide us off the stage.

[X]

Only one person would have visited me if he were not sequestered to another room. I find myself wishing the Academy Heads made a different decision again as I sit alone.

I remind myself that other people can matter when I come back as a celebrated victor.

For now, I need to keep focused on the Games and nothing else.

[X]

The trip to the Capitol is relatively short according to Satin Athens, but we must sit around and wait for each Reaping to be televised. I study my fingernails and act disinterested in the conversation an enamored Satin Athens upholds with Cato. Hiding how funny I think his aggravation is proves difficult, but I have enough experience hiding my emotions to succeed.

I stand up at the brief intermission between Six and Seven and find food.

My mentor follows me and I turn to face her, wary of the two peacekeepers in diagonal corners and likely surveillance cameras above.

"The Reapings are unimpressive. The tributes look as pathetic as usual," I comment, crossing my arms.

"They never are very promising except for Two and occasionally One. I'm not overconfident when I say that I know you'll win," states Enobaria, her tone confident, not cavalier. "I trained you, didn't I? I've never failed to bring home a tribute."

Everyone knows that. The reason is probably because she has only mentored for four Hunger Games, but I try not to think about that.

"Did I express any doubt?" I coldly ask with a defiant twist of my lips.

The fleeting flash of her amused smile is more gold than white.

"No, no you didn't." She smirks at me and throws an apple from the table. My reflexes kick in and I catch it in one unwavering hand.

I wonder if it is fake until I take a bite.

[X]

The tributes from Four are weak. The girl tribute from Eleven draws my attention.

"She looks…?" I turn to Cato, not needing to finish my sentence.

"Yeah. She's agile," he comments. "Not that it'll help something so scrawny get past the bloodbath."

I narrow my eyes. "Do you remember your little spar with me? When we first met, I think you underestimated an agile little girl." I touch the scar on his neck from a small blade. "Don't make the same mistakes twice, like you always do with bows at target practice."

He scowls at me, on the verge of releasing a growl.

Cato glares until a girl on the screen screams, "I volunteer as tribute!"

It only takes me one look at her to make my blood boil, and my instinctive hatred is never unfounded.

[X]

The dress being pinned to my body is grey with spackled décor that makes it look like stone. They paint my skin the same shade. My black hair is straightened but intertwined with silver ribbons.

I consider it to be ugly, but I am not stupid enough to get on anyone's bad side here. I keep my expression as stoic as the stone they have garbed me in and wordlessly glare at the mirror.

"You're one pretty girl," says my stylist, Gallus. "All eyes will be on you. Just remember to smile."

I shift my glare from my reflection to him, and he flinches from the mere look.

Good.

[X]

When I at last escape the clutches of my spacey stylist, I walk out to the chariots and see Cato talking to the girl from District One. Her partner glowers, leaning against his chariot, and my eyes lock on him. I do not even know him, and I already want to claim him as one of my kills. He has that _look_ of ego and overconfidence that I have always despised.

The girl flips her blonde hair and draws my attention. I purse my lips. She is very beautiful. I cannot help but stare and catch myself just in time to look away when she peels her emerald eyes from Cato and glances up at me.

My district partner turns to face me and brusquely states, "This is Glimmer. Over there is Marvel."

I can tell from the gravel in my best friend's voice that he disapproves of the boy as much as I do. It makes a wicked smirk flash across my face for a split second.

My eyes wander as Cato makes connections with other careers. They land on a girl who flashes with bright lights, only making her red hair stick out further. It is not her appearance that makes me stare at an otherwise meaningless tribute.

The way she studies me makes my blood run cold. Her gaze pierces my soul.

I flash her a bitter glare but she does not look away.

She locks eyes with me, like no one dares to do. My nostrils flare, and, wisely, she looks away first. I mentally put her on my kill list; she is pathetic and overbold.

Before I can fantasize about stabbing the throat of the eerie tribute with fiery hair, Satin Athens ushers me and Cato towards the chariot.

My best friend offers his hand to help me up and I brush it away, stepping up myself. His help is unnecessary and only would serve to make me look weak.

I grip the edge of the chariot until my knuckles turn white and straighten my back.

The other tributes will fear me and the Capitol will never forget me.

Of that I am certain.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _This fic has only two changes to canon. The first is the AU that's the core of the story. Clove throws a knife that she doesn't in the books, which causes a butterfly-effect that changes the entire series, particularly for her and Foxface.  
The other change is Enobaria's age. She did win the 62_ _nd_ _Games, but in this fic she won the 68_ _th_ _, making her twenty-three instead of twenty-nine. She's the third most important character in this fic and I needed her to win that specific year to improve the plot and character development.  
Thank y'all for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. I deeply appreciate the support and I hope you're enjoying the show._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

Even as I fade into the walls of the crystal elevator, Cordelia keeps watching my every move. I don't know what she plans on figuring out from that scrutinizing greenish gaze. I hate having much attention on me, but I hate confrontation even more, so I keep my mouth shut and my eyes away from Cordelia at all times.

My gaze rests on Valentina Nyxeris. She is the only person in the District Five crew who openly acknowledges me. Despite her friendliness, she does not make for deep conversation.

She says, "I'm getting a dress like yours made. I _know_ that fire from Twelve was very impressive and everyone will be trying to wear it but I just _love_ your flashing lights and I _completely_ support you as my tribute and you are _far_ more beautiful than the girl from Twelve or even the girl from One. I might get the skirt cut shorter, of course. I've never been a fan of the long ones…" She carries on like that for some time—talking in circles—as I try to find appropriate moments to nod. I think I am off the hook until Valentina asks me a direct question: "Do you think I have to dye my hair silver with it or can I keep the purple? Purple is _much_ more in fashion right now and I had silver hair last season."

After my hearts skips a beat, "You should stick with purple. Everything goes with grey. I think your hair will be lovely how it is," I say and she flashes an artificially pearly grin my way. Cordelia snickers from the corner and I blush almost as red as my hair.

She leans in and whispers to me, "Maybe you _can_ get some sponsors with your exquisite fashion knowledge."

I blush harder.

[X]

After exploring the incredible, plush and lush quarters designated for District Five, I plan to hide until I see the table laden with food. _Okay_ , maybe I can stick around for a while longer; I've never seen so much to eat in one place.

The moment I find a plate and fill it, Cordelia corners me.

I speak first. "I thought you were watching me to analyze my strengths in the Arena, but you're not. You're watching me because you think you recognize me."

She frowns and squints for a fleeting moment, then returns to her perpetually impartial expression. "You're Holly Jones's girl, aren't you?"

I try to mask my surprise but can't. "Yes."

"I knew her," says Cordelia. Again, my eyes flash wide against my will. "She was the one who was executed a few years ago. They hadn't used the gallows in the main square in a decade and haven't used them since."

That is what people tend to recall, and so my shock fades. I sharply nod.

Six years ago, a group of rebels led by my mother tried to blow up the hydroelectric plant, which would have devastated the Capitol and many of the Districts. On top of that, it was to take place during the Games and rumor had it that the bombing would destroy the Arena along with the Capitol's fancy lights.

They came close to succeeding but someone on the inside turned them in. The peacekeepers were waiting in the dark of the night and all the conspirators met their public deaths the next day.

That year, my cousin was a tribute. She made it to the final four but she was killed by Enobaria Whitethorn. Solis took a knife through the forehead and another through the chest.

"It's not anything worth talking about," I softly say, snapping my focus from my thoughts back to my mentor.

"She was a very smart person," states Cordelia, and I wonder if she knew her as more than the woman hanged for treason. Most people do not. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." I nod and rise to go to bed.

"Solanine is an odd name. Why did she choose it?" asks Cordelia with a tone of genuine interest. Her hard, cold eyes are unusually warm, which draws my focus.

"My mom collected books before she died. She was very interested in biology and chemistry, but she had a hundred other topics too. My mom read me two the most often because they were the only ones with pictures and maybe she liked them too. One was a book of poisonous and edible plants and the other was a picture book about a fox. I don't know why that matters. She found my name in the one about plants. It's the compound that makes nightshade poisonous, I think, and half of what makes nightlock so deadly. Of course, the astronomical cyanide content is the other half, not hemlock as one would think. I suppose the name is misleading. My name is misleading too. I've never been very dangerous."

I have no idea why I said that, but Cordelia appears to be intrigued by something so mundane and useless. It is evident that the odds are against me and books I loved as a child or anecdotes about a life I'll never return to are not productive.

But my mentor smiles. It is the first time I have seen her do that. "Maybe you'll live up to your name if you're half as stubborn and clever as Holly."

"I hope so," I reply curtly. I, again, attempt to nod and silently end our conversation.

This time, it works.

Tonight, I have nightmares about my mother and her lifeless eyes for the first time in years.

[X]

In the morning, Cordelia is the only one at the breakfast table. I think I might be late; it is almost nine thirty already and we must attend group training at ten.

"You know how to catch me, don't you?" I ask, smiling faintly at her. I sit down and grab as much food as I can, mostly choosing what I have never seen or tasted before. It is the unknown of the Capitol I want to experience before I die; that exploration of the unknown is the only redeeming quality of participating in the Hunger Games.

"Well, you can't resist the food." Cordelia smiles slyly. We share that expression. "I imagine you never had much, even when Holly was alive."

"Nobody does in Five," I instantaneously reply. Her lips contort into a frown, and so I hastily change the subject. "What will happen at training?"

Cordelia clasps her hands on the table and straightens her posture, clearly made more comfortable by this subject. "You'll get ready for the Games. I'll train you separately when it comes time, but you need to start with group training. Every tribute will be there at least during the first two days. Do you have any skills that could be of use in the Arena?"

"I'm good at blending in and I can be very quiet, even when running." Those both are vital qualities for a good thief and I would consider myself to be one of the best.

Cordelia replies, "Then I'd suggest blending in and spending the first two days just watching the competition. Look for strengths, weaknesses, anything you can find out."

"Good idea," I say, not stating that I already planned on doing that. "Where are Volt and Aster?"

"Meeting privately. Aster wanted to be trained separately from you," Cordelia answers.

"He'll die," I say, furrowing my brow. "I don't think Volt even knows where he is most of the time."

Cordelia laughs. I do not.

"He's more lucid than he looks," she says, waving her hand dismissively, "but I don't think you should spend time worrying about Aster. It's best to avoid getting attached."

Cocking an eyebrow, I say, "I thought I was supposed to scope out the competition?"

"Sol," Cordelia says, her expression suddenly grave, "he won't make it past the bloodbath, but you might."

I hold my tongue, even though I want to shout at her for being so cavalier about her own tribute. She might be my mentor, but Aster is her responsibility too.

Yet, I think Cordelia Shepherd would be a terrifying enemy to have.

[X]

My heart races when I enter training. A man garbed in black pins the number Five on my back as the tributes begin to gather. The group training room is cavernous and impeccably well-kept. The stations vary widely—offering a plethora of skills—and I try to quickly consider what might be worth learning while still studying the competition. Cordelia never specified that I couldn't do both.

Once all twenty-four tributes assemble in a clump, we listen to a woman named Atala stiffly list the stations and the rules. I'm only giving her half of my attention because the careers already stand in their tidy, predetermined alliance. The majority of them are focused on Atala, but the girl from Two glares at me, flashing dirty looks my way every few seconds.

I thank my lucky stars that I'm a fast runner and an expert at hide-and-seek.

Especially when the tributes scatter and the girl from Two picks up a mace, then proceeds to decimate a practice dummy in one swing.

[X]

That morning, I linger by the fire station, knowing I would never light one in any circumstance, until the boy from Four comes over. When he notices my existence, I scurry across the room and ace the edible plants test three times. I would have repeated it again if the trainer was not scowling at me, but I knew people would notice that I had an advantage, so I drift towards the other side of the room.

Every so often, I glance up at the gamemakers and make sure that they are either looking at a plate of food or another tribute. They seem to consider me invisible, which is exactly what I desire.

I begin to slip on the climbing wall and grasp upwards to catch myself. A dark hand snatches my wrist, and, even though the tribute from Eleven does not have the strength to hold me up, she gives me an opportunity to regain my balance. When we reach the top, she crosses onto nets bound to the rafters. I take several deep breaths before I am courageous enough to follow.

Once we settle on the ceiling, she turns to me with glistening, wide russet eyes.

"What's your name?" I whisper to the little girl, unable to avoid her piercing gaze.

She smiles at me. "Rue. What's your name?"

"Sol," I softly reply, wrapping my fingers around the rope. "Thank you for showing me this place. It's quiet and dark."

 _And there's a good view_ , I think as I examine the tributes below.

"You're fast. I'm fast too," says Rue, still with a small, sly smile on her chapped lips.

I peel my gaze from the District One girl's impressive spar with one of the trainers. Her right leg falters ever-so-slightly when she takes a step too quickly in any direction. I wonder if she is hurt somehow. She has mastered hiding it, but cannot conceal it from me.

"I guess I am," I reply, and I steal a glance at District Four trying to light a fire and failing. Then I return my gaze to Rue. "I don't want allies."

Rue studies me. It hurts my heart when I see the disappointment in her protuberant eyes, but I do not want any connections in the Arena. They complicate things.

"That's okay," she says, offering a smile. "You can still hide out up here with me if you want."

I cannot help but faintly smile back.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

In the elevator after the Opening Ceremony, Cato growls, "I don't know what delusions Twelve has but they can't expect to show everyone else up."

" _Cato_ , they _did_ show us up," I purr and his lip contorts with rage, "but they won't make it past the bloodbath." I turn to him and meet his eyes, slightly softening his fierce glare. "We can promise each other that they won't. The moment the boy steps off his platform, I'll sink a knife or two into his vital organs and you will stab the girl through before she even knows the Games have started. It's simple. Our tributes do it every year without much difficulty."

Cato smirks at me. "Good plan."

"Of course it is," I reply with a sparkle in my eyes. Then I feel anger rising in my chest as I think about the first person who went on my kill list. "Five was staring me down before the parade. She didn't even look away when I stared back and she should pay for such a mistake." I cross my arms. "I'm killing her too, but much more slowly than Twelve." Huffily, I continue, "I don't know why these outlying districts think they have a chance of making it past the first day."

Cato fully smiles at that, his dull teeth showing. I must admit I prefer the sharp ones of the woman standing closely behind me. "So, Twelve and Five are priorities for no good reason. Eleven—the boy, of course—could be a good addition to our alliance, since Four looks so pathetic."

"One looks weak too," I state.

He shakes his head. "They're trained."

Rolling my eyes, I purr, "She's just hot, which is the only reason why you think that."

"And you disagree?" Cato laughs.

I shrug, briefly glancing over my shoulder. "I'm a very monogamous girl who doesn't spend much time looking at others."

Cato leans in, out of Brutus and Satin Athens' earshot, and taunts in my ear, "Because you're scared of your girlfriend."

"Shut up," I snap, blushing.

"That means yes." Cato smirks.

"I fear no one," I ruthlessly retort. "That includes you, so keep your guard up."

He laughs. I suck in a breath of air to keep myself from joining him.

[X]

After dinner, which is as strictly regulated as it was at the Academy, I take a shower and settle into my room. The electronics here are impressive. I never did much with my hair at home, but a machine dried it for me with a press of a button. It certainly makes sleeping more comfortable, but I am still agitated, ending up tearing the sheets from my bed. The city outside is too bright, my skin itches and I cannot stop thinking about the stress of training tomorrow.

I consider taking the fancy Capitol sleeping pills but decide against it. What if it inhibits my skills in the morning?

Tea. I remember a device that created any food or drink one whispers to it and I get up to get a dose of chamomile in my system.

When I creep out of my bedroom, breaking the unofficial curfew, I hear Brutus shouting at Cato about him being a disappointment. That happens regularly; Brutus has a temper that I tend to laugh at behind his back. Cato always grumbles about it, especially after the archery lessons he has skipped for two years now.

I pin my back against the half-wall dividing the bedrooms from the living room in order to listen in.

"Sir," growls Cato, recklessly standing up to his mentor. I'm stunned by it. He has always been overbold, but he values his standing in the Academy too much to be directly insubordinate. "I put my feelings for Clove aside a long time ago. She's my friend, but friendships don't matter in the Arena. Both of us know that."

Brutus vociferously snarls, "You just stopped desiring her? Gave up on her? I don't need lies from my tribute."

Cato shouts, now loud enough to wake all twelve floors of the Tribute Center, "I'm not lying, because she prefers the company of women and is in a relationship that I consider _fortunate_! It prevents her from becoming a distraction! She would never want me back and plenty of girls throw themselves at me!"

I have a brief mental fantasy of throttling Cato. He can't call himself my friend and go telling Brutus about my indiscretions. I cannot afford a ruined reputation and he of all people should know that.

The quietness of Brutus's tone now unnerves me. I must strain my ears to hear his next question.

"She has someone to go home to then?" Brutus murmurs.

I frantically think: _Shut up, Cato. Shut up, Cato. Shut up, Cato._

"She had her someone come here with her," he boldly says like a fool. My chest burns with the acid of anger. "Her mentor trained her in more than throwing knives."

I learned early in life to control my violent impulses, but I cannot at this moment. Flying out from behind the wall, I tackle Cato in a flash. My fist collides with his face three times before he and Brutus even notice I'm in the room. It hurts my hand—even if I know how to properly crush my knuckles against someone's skull—but I barely notice the pain.

He does not fight or struggle, which shocks me, staying my hand and giving Brutus an opportunity to roughly pull me away from my district partner. The muscular man holds me tightly until I stop writhing against him and return my feet to the floor.

"You should've hit her back, Cato," is all Brutus snarls before he retreats to his room.

Cato scowls, waiting for his mentor to fade into the dark corridor. He mutters, "I was a little startled by the tiny little girl pouncing on me out of nowhere."

"Then you're not ready for the Arena," I snap, my nostrils flaring.

Cato stands up, towering above me, but I do not falter or flinch.

"We're allies, remember?" he says. "I intend to go to the finale with you and _then_ we can take out our frustrations and give the Capitol an unforgettable battle."

I glower, despite the truth he spoke. "You might've gotten me killed."

Cato rolls his eyes. "No one cares here. We're not at the Academy anymore and any leg-up in the Hunger Games is encouraged, including being star-crossed lovers with your mentor."

Vehemently, I snap, "We aren't star-crossed when I know I'm going to win."

If anyone else said that to Cato, he would challenge them to a duel or slice their face open, but he is used to my talk, so he merely shoots me a glance that bids me goodnight and goes to his own room.

When I return to my own lodgings, I dry swallow the two pills from my bedside table; I'm too angry to sleep, tea or not.

[X]

Last night at dinner, Brutus and Enobaria told us to meet them at breakfast. Yet, in the morning, Cato and I are alone. We keep exchanging uncomfortable glances. I pick apart a grapefruit half with a dinner knife, uninterested in the food when I have so much on my mind. He has already finished two plates of eggs and is on his third.

"Are they even here?" I at last ask, breaking the silence.

"I checked half an hour ago," Cato says with his mouth full. "They're gone without a trace."

"You could've said something," I grumble, slashing open a chunk of grapefruit. I hiss when the painful juice spritzes into my right eye.

"I figured you weren't speaking to me for some reason." He spears one of my discarded grapefruit chunks and puts it in his mouth.

"For _some reason_ like you screaming my deepest secret to _Brutus_. But, no, I'm not holding a grudge. I just thought we were waiting for them."

Satin Athens enters the room right on cue. "It's fifteen minutes to ten; you two should get dressed and head to the group training room."

I don't need to be told twice.

[X]

After lunch, Cato and I stand outside of the sparring ring, waiting for our respective turns with the trainer. The girl from District Four is making a fool of herself there but still taking her sweet time. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of the little girl from Eleven edging subtly closer and closer to Twelve (who seem to be joined at the hip).

"I told you not to underestimate Eleven," I sharply remark, my knuckle pressed to my lower lip.

Cato instantly turns to the dark-skinned boy who is the only tribute larger than himself. "No one does."

"The _girl_ ," I reply with a swift roll of my eyes.

"Is she even here?" Cato exaggerates looking around just to mock me.

"She was hiding for most of the morning—up in those nets with Five—but I think she gained some confidence after lunch. She's fast, good at every survival skill, climbs like a squirrel and hits the bullseye every single time with a slingshot." I nod in her direction. Right now, she lingers at the plants station with Twelve.

Cato jeers, "Because a _slingshot_ will so easily defeat a spear or sword or even your tiny knives."

"Stranger things have happened," I serenely reply, poking his scar again.

[X]

The target range has only one person at it during the last hour of training: District Five. I cannot miss her fiery hair and the bright number pinned to her back.

I decide to take initiative in figuring her out before it is too late, and stride over to stand beside her. She does not look at me and instead focuses on the small knife in her hand. Five studies it like she has never seen one before in her life.

It is the ideal moment to put her in her place.

"Do you need help lifting that?" I taunt, smirking.

She looks at me and subtly shakes her head. I pick up one of my own and—in a fast throw—slam it into the target with a thunderous _thunk_. Five still holds the knife like she has never seen one before. Maybe she has not. I repeat my feat, knocking the former knife out of the way with the second one. She looks at me, rapt, again, and I suppress a smirk.

If she was not afraid of me before, she ought to be now.

But as I prepare to gloat and remind her who the _real_ tributes are, she very slowly slips through the formal stance they teach at the Academy and sinks the knife she moments ago could not distinguish from a fork into the innermost ring just shy of the bullseye.

At last, I learn she is not an avox in disguise when she softly says, "Thank you for teaching me how to throw knives, Clove," and glides away.

I hate her.

[X]

After training, I slink into her room and sit down at the foot of my mentor's bed. This bedroom is much nicer than mine; it is unfair. She leans against the headboard and waits for me to speak first.

"Where did you and Brutus run off to?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "I was worried that you eloped."

"It's against the rules to be so sarcastic in your mentor's presence. You should know that." Pause. "We had a discussion about you and Cato that got a little out of hand. It really enrages the man that I don't take him seriously."

"But it _is_ serious, isn't it? I'm supposed to be the top of my class, not someone who breaks such basic Academy rules as that." I sigh, not caring that I have made myself look vulnerable.

"Once you're a victor no one will care." Enobaria touches my shoulder and stops her long nails just short of my neck. I cannot hide my shiver. "Long story short, my former mentor won the fistfight but I won the argument. Now, let's keep this professional. Tell me about the competition."

"I want to say One," I state as she rescinds her hand, "but I think Cato and I could take them both out in the bloodbath if we didn't have an alliance. They're both too cocky for their own good and the girl isn't remarkable with anything other than a sword. The boy has such a punchable face that he has no chance at surviving."

Enobaria's mocking smile is a familiar flash of bright gold. "So, your district partner has a lot in common with our distinguished allies. Cocky, not well-rounded, punchable face…"

"Yes," I admit, even though part of me wants to defend him. The tension between us due to the Games or not, he _is_ my only friend in this world. "The worst competition is both from Eleven."

"Both?" inquires Enobaria.

"Yes. I noticed the little girl at each station today. She's a dark horse, trust me." I adjust my position. "Five saw two knife throws and emulated the Academy stance in one try. She's observant and stealthy, but I don't think she'll last too long. Still, she's one I have to keep my eye on."

Enobaria rubs her lips together then coldly comments, "Your focus seems to only be on the unexpected tributes."

"Of course it is. They're the ones that trip up people with training as excellent as my own." I pick at my lower lip. She reaches forward and brushes my hand away from my face. "But I still don't express any doubt. I will win this year and I am certain of it. All my competitors who are halfway decent at a few skills only mean that the Games will last more than a few hours. They don't interfere with my imminent victory."

I mean every word I say. For years, I have felt in my gut that I was born to win the Hunger Games. Nothing will stand in my way. Not Twelve's fancy costumes, Five's indignance, Eleven's surprises or Cato's relationship with me.

At any cost, I will win.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

As training days go on, the tributes who draw my eye most at first are Twelve: Katniss and Peeta. They cling to each other, unlike any other district partners. At lunch, they both act very animated and eager to be close. Even the careers that know they will ally with each other and live through the first day keep a cold layer of ice over themselves.

We all will die soon. All but one and only one.

Yet, among the careers, the two from Two seem closer than the others. Cato and Clove appear to know each other on an intimate level. Their conversations come off as casual and their stiff posture relaxes when they sit together but not whenever One and Four are around. I consider them to be closer than Twelve.

Rue never spends much time openly with Thresh, but she occasionally tells him a joke and he laughs. Once I see him help her hold a spear but they have no further interactions.

Those relationships are clear to me, but everyone else seems to keep the only rule of the Hunger Games in mind.

I sit alone, in the shadows, not even seating myself at the main tables during lunch.

People do not notice me. Only one person ever shoots me a glance for more than a flicker of a second, and it is, unfortunately, the person I have deemed to be the most dangerous: Clove from District Two.

Thankfully, after two days, Clove disappears from group training, as do the rest of the careers and two or three other tributes. The numbers dwindle day by day as the tributes attend private training with their mentors. Cordelia has not asked me; I suspect she wants me to keep studying the competition until I no longer can.

The days pass like minutes, the Games ticking closer and closer.

I feel every second as if I am trapped in an hourglass with no escape, the sand rising higher and higher, prepared to suffocate me.

[X]

On the morning of the private sessions with the gamemakers, I find Cordelia waiting for me at breakfast. I sit down, my heart rate increasing by significant margins. It must show on my face because my mentor looks mildly sympathetic, a rare state for her.

"They'll call you in one by one during lunch," she says, but Atala already announced that protocol yesterday. "I'd recommend a score of around six."

"I don't know how to do that," I snap, speaking louder than I have since I met her. It visibly startles the statuesque woman. "I have no idea how I could even get more than a one, much less an exact score that's higher than any skills I have."

Cordelia rubs her face. She then looks up, exasperated for reasons beyond my fathoming.

"Then go for the best damned score you can get," she bluntly says.

"Again, _how_?" I snarl, clenching my fists.

"You have it in you, but—Sol, listen to me—you'll never leave a footprint if you always walk around on tip-toes."

"I'm not the kind of person who stomps," I whisper before standing up.

[X]

Later that day, I sit in my usual shadowy corner during lunch and listen to the officials call the tributes into another room one by one. Each second pulses inside of my body, my palpitating heart as loud, angry and insistent as the hands on a clock. When the gamemakers request my presence, I rise from my hiding place and follow the guide to the designated training room. They set the stations up provide options for the tributes and the gamemakers loom above in their ominous purple robes.

For the first time, their eyes are on me.

I take a few deep breaths and ace the plants station in mere seconds. Then I run to the climbing wall and swiftly scale it. I sloppily descend and mentally kick myself for the mistake.

The gamemakers still wait.

That was not enough to warrant more than a three, if I had to guess.

My eyes frantically flicker around the room and at last land on the targets where I met Clove. I scamper over and pick up a handful of throwing knives. Out of seven throws, I make two bullseyes, three inside of the innermost ring and two within the outermost ring.

Watching Clove paid off, but I am no career.

I slyly smile at the gamemakers and leave.

[X]

After zipping up to the fifth floor the elevator, I walk into the suite and see Cordelia, Volt and Valentina waiting around the powered-down television. Aster must still be in his private audience. Slowly, I sit down on the sofa and look up at my mentor. She holds a cup of water; Volt holds a cup of liquor. Valentina smiles at me with those too-white teeth.

"What did you do?" coldly asks Cordelia, striding across the room to sit down beside me.

"I did the plants station and got a perfect score in a few seconds, I climbed but my descent was messy, and…" I blush. "I threw knives. I hit the target seven times but only got the bullseye twice."

Cordelia's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. I did not expect such a strong response to what I am certain was a weak performance.

"You know, Sol," she quietly says, "I hate getting my hopes up, but I think I might have a winner this year."

"Why?" I ask, my eyes wide and brimming with tears. I no longer can control myself; the reality of the Hunger Games has set in now.

"I don't think any of my tributes have thrown knives before, much less hit the target even once. Learning fast is more important than years of experience, and a kid like you who had to survive by her own wits has a remarkable will to live. I always hope for the slum children. They have the best chances," Cordelia calmly says, startling me by how calmly she discusses her past tributes.

Only one has come home.

"Were you a slum child?" I dare to ask, bravely locking eyes with my intimidating mentor.

Cordelia nods. "Yes, I was. That's what gave me the strength to make it to the end."

The tears start flowing from my eyes. "I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die, please, I don't want to die."

This cold, bitter woman wraps her arms around me and holds me while I sob.

We only break apart when Aster exits the elevator and enters the suite.

[X]

I sit on the edge of the room when we watch the scores revealed on the television. Aster is rambling about how nervous he is about his failed attempts with a spear. Maybe Cordelia is right about him. With or without a sober mentor, he probably will not survive the bloodbath.

The careers remain predictable this year, but my eyes do linger on the ten of the girl from Two. She wants me dead and I torment myself by studying how capable she is of killing me.

District Five flashes on the screen. Aster gets a two. He starts to hyperventilate.

I get a six. Cordelia flashes me a barely noticeable smirk.

Rue receives a seven. Maybe I was wrong about not wanting any allies. The two of us have pulled the highest scores from the outlying districts so far, save for her district partner and his nine.

Then Twelve takes the stage. The boy, Peeta, has an eight. The girl has an eleven.

An _eleven_. I never would have guessed, even after watching her so closely.

I retreat to my room so that no one can hear me cry.

Cordelia does not have her winner.

Clove or Katniss will be victorious; of that I am certain.

[X]

On the morning of the interviews, Cordelia again catches me at the breakfast table—this time with Aster—and bluntly explains, "You both have four hours with Valentina to make you walk pretty or whatever she does and four hours with me—or Volt, Aster—to come up with suitable angles. This interview is your best chance to gather sponsors."

"Okay," Aster robotically replies. I remain silent, my favorite state.

Cordelia then adds, "On another note, I need both of your tokens. They have to be inspected."

My lips part in surprise. I have kept the comb buried in a drawer since my first night here. It reminded me too much of what I lost once I was reaped.

"I'll go get it," I whisper, my head bowed.

I hope they let me keep it.

The Capitol has already taken too much that I love.

[X]

On Interview Night, Septima dresses me in a cramped, perfumey room. All day I have been practicing for this fateful evening. Cordelia drilled the angle of sly, clever and elusive into my head and even taught me a new facial expression—a knowing smirk I quite like. Even though I should feel prepared, my heart uncontrollably pounds. I wonder if she can hear it. Heck, I wonder if people in District Five can hear it.

"You'll look beautiful in seafoam. I think it's your color," says Septima, finishing sewing me into the dress.

She spins me around and lets me look in the mirror for the first time. I am stunned by what I see. The dress shimmers in the light, shifting from blue to green and all permutations thereof. It makes my eyes pop and my hair stand out even more than it usually does.

Septima pins my hair up with my comb.

"Where did you get that?" I ask, grasping at it. The moment my fingers strike the metal, I feel a rush of warmth.

"I picked it up after the token inspections. They were slightly concerned about the teeth being used as a weapon but ultimately decided you could take it into the arena," Septima warmly explains. "Cordelia said you might want to wear it."

"Thank you." She hugs me and I don't fight it. Then I look back at the mirror. "I think my legs show a bit too much."

"You have wonderful legs," insists Septima, waving her hand dismissively. "Your prep team did a great job with them and I think the dress highlights all of your lovely features. Now glide like a princess and own those legs."

I do not know how I could _not_ own my legs. They are attached to my body and I was born with them but I chalk it up to Capitol slang and try to use context.

"I'll try," I say, summoning a smile. It is faint, but genuine.

Septima pats my back. "Now go get backstage. You'll do great."

I nod and walk, grateful for my high heels lesson, out of my dressing room and to the waiting area for tributes. Despite the many tributes around me, I opt to stand beside my district partner.

"Hey," whispers Aster, the first word he has ever said to me, "good luck, Sol."

"Thank you," I say, but I avert my eyes as I speak. As dark as it is, I want him to fail; I cannot wish him luck without lying.

I have never been an entirely honest person. When I was young I struggled with lies. No one ever knew me, because I was either hiding or telling naught but lies. It was an affliction. When I started lying about the simplest of things to even Fission and my mom, I decided I had to change.

It was not highly effective, but I took up the habit of saying nothing instead of saying falsehoods. That serves me well these days.

[X]

I watch the interviews attentively. District Two come off as surprisingly composed. Her partner's angle plays up his strength and brutality, but her brand of ruthlessness chills me to the bone. I imagine it would have that effect on anyone.

When they call my name, I rise and glide like Valentina taught me. When I sit across from Caesar, I glance at the audience through the corner of my eye and fleetingly smirk. I hope it works as well as Cordelia said it would.

Caesar smiles wide for the cameras and leans in, thrusting the microphone at my face. "So, Sol—oh, isn't that fun to say?—so, Sol, tell me how your stay in the Capitol has been!"

"Your hospitality has been a treat," I say, drawing out my words in something closer to a drawl than District Two's purr. It feels too sexy for who I am. "I've been fascinated by the high culture. It's incredible to study."

Caesar grins and says, "District Five is power. How do you feel about this lighting?"

"I prefer to be in the dark, Caesar," I smoothly reply, gently leaning in towards my interviewer. "That way no one can see me coming."

He laughs, prompting the audience to do the same.

As he does with most tributes over the age of sixteen, he asks about romance. "So, a pretty girl like you has to have someone waiting back home?"

"Unfortunately, I don't have my mind on romance right now, although I know everyone would love the details. I can only think about winning. What comes next will… well, it won't be a surprise for me, but I'm sure I can fill you all in during my Victory Tour." That one is not rehearsed. I _told_ Cordelia I would say nothing of Fission and she should have known I meant it.

"You're confident! I love that about you," Caesar says. In his last question he inquires, "So, Sol, tell me a little something about your six."

"I can't give away my secrets; I need those to win." I repeat the smirk Cordelia pounded into me. It is almost all I remember from my training today.

Caesar exaggeratedly insists, "Oh, please, just a hint!"

"Alright. One hint can't hurt." I give that rehearsed smirk again. Brashly, I glance over my shoulder at Clove. She already wants to kill me; I cannot make it worse. "I had a little help from another tribute. There's a lot more to learn from my opponents than the trainers."

"Let's give a hand for this sly little fox." Caesar flashes a smile. His teeth are much too white.

The thunderous applause makes me blush, and so I cover by giving the smirk once more.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

After two days of group training, we begin private sessions in the smaller rooms. At least, those tributes with mentors who have their eyes on the prize.

"Who's Five's mentor?" I ask Enobaria the moment we enter our allotted room. It reminds me of the boxing gym at the Academy, grey, smelling of sweat and cleaning fluid.

"Cordelia Shepherd. I don't know her well, but she mentored every year that I did. I did watch her Games when I was a child, and she was scary for someone from Five. At first, she hid like most people from the losing districts do. Then, when the tributes dwindled, she started to fight. The Arena's food sources were contaminated and the Hunger Games came down to hunger. The food trickled in from sponsors at first, but then I guess it must have gotten too expensive. She, a weakling, was suddenly stronger than the powerful tributes. She killed them all with nothing but a bowie knife."

I cock an eyebrow, half-impressed. "I didn't know they made them that way in Five."

"Every district has victors, don't they? Sometimes people get lucky." Enobaria pauses in mock thought, touching her finger to her chin. I suppress a smile. "Cordelia glares at me even more than most people do."

"She and her tribute have that in common," I grumble, any flicker of happiness long gone. I look up at Enobaria again. "Are we sworn enemies with them or something? I have no clue what Five's problem is."

"I think all the other districts are sworn enemies with us," Enobaria cavalierly replies, striding across the room to find the various blades. "Stop worrying about that scrawny little girl. She looks like a fox but I doubt she has fangs."

I laugh. "She does kind of look like a fox," I admit, suddenly seeing it. "But foxes are clever, even without fangs and claws."

"You're clever too." Enobaria's eyes gleam when she says that. "Now, I guess we can put off this vital training while I make love to your ego again if you're still so hung up on what Foxy thinks about you."

"I'm not," I fiercely insist.

[X]

In the evening, Enobaria and I are back on the second floor, but Cato and Brutus still are training. We sit for our dinner, our strictly regulated diet. Oatmeal and almonds. How pleasant. But my thoughts are on Cato and not the lackluster meal.

"Should we be…?" I ask, not needing to finish my sentence.

"No. We still have until Sunday and you're doing well." Enobaria raises her fist towards her mouth and cracks two of her knuckles. "Brutus is taking out his frustrations on your little friend. He doesn't think Cato will win."

I'm surprised at my own vehemence when I reply, "Cato is ranked above me at the Academy. Everyone has expected him to be a victor since I was thirteen."

"Brutus petitioned the Academy Heads to defer you until next year. He didn't win. I agree with my old mentor on few things, but I supported him. We didn't win that fight. We couldn't without admitting that you and Cato had weaknesses." Enobaria leans back in her chair, sitting on it as if it is a throne. I do admire that about her.

"No one has ever lost the Games over a girl or a friendship," I say, rolling my eyes at Brutus's paranoia. "All of that stops mattering in the arena."

Enobaria shocks me when she asks, "Could you kill him?"

"I won't have to," I say, as I have told myself in my head every night.

Enobaria states, "You might. Could you?"

"I don't know," I quietly say. I should lie but I know she would see through it.

"Do you feel anything for him?" Enobaria asks, so calm, so cold, so collected. I hide how frazzled I am by mimicking her expression and posture.

"No," I firmly answer.

Enobaria shakes her head. "If you do, you can tell me. I'll survive."

"I don't know then," I admit, starting a staring contest with my bowl. "Sometimes I think I might, but I can't waste any more time on that. Only one of us will be alive in a few weeks and then I never have to worry about if I want him again."

"You sound heartbroken about that," says Enobaria.

"I don't have a heart to break," I retort, standing up.

Wordlessly, I take my dinner to my bedroom.

My mentor does not bother me again tonight.

[X]

On the evening before the private sessions with the Gamemakers, "You better get at least a ten," Enobaria says sharply as I sit down on her bed.

We have been sharing a room now that Brutus knows the truth. Satin Athens would faint if she found out, but I do not care about the silly little escort. In fact, I care about nothing other than reigning victorious in a few days' time.

"I expect nothing less," I whisper, gazing at her lips.

We lack words. The heat between us speaks for itself.

Enobaria leans in and kisses me so passionately that I get a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.

The pain hurts so good.

[X]

In my private session, I display skills with every weapon, showcasing throwing knives. Since I had a little spare time and the intent attention of the Gamemakers, I flaunted a few survival skills while I was at it. If I have less than a ten I would be shocked and revolted.

After it, I sit on the sofa beside Cato. Enobaria perches on the arm of the couch and Brutus stands behind us with his muscular arms crossed. District One does as predicted. I hold my breath as Cato receives his ten, and can only breathe after I get my matching score.

None of us exchange congratulations. We received average ratings for District Two.

We continue watching in silence.

"Solanine Jones," I mutter when Caesar introduces Five. No one hears me but Enobaria, who flashes a chastising glare my way.

'Stop worrying about Foxy,' she mouths.

I nod. My anger in the ginger's direction vanishes when Twelve gets an _eleven_.

Brutus punches the wall, breaking it.

Satin Athens screams out, "Don't damage the property!"

Enobaria and Cato laugh but I take a deep breath to hold mine in.

I am done with these outlying districts and their delusions of grandeur.

[X]

On Interview Night, my dress is deep red and dangerous, but the choker necklace my stylist drapes on me catches my attention. It appears as if my throat has been slit, the rubies dripping down from the red ribbon like blood.

"This is hideous," I softly snarl. He pretends not to hear me.

I do not grant him another word or second of my time. Once I am backstage I remove the necklace and drop it in a trash can. It does not suit me, but it would look fantastic on Five or Twelve.

Glimmer's dress is distracting. I keep glancing at it and swiftly looking away. Cato does the same and I find it gets on my nerves more than it should. I am taken and he is not my type, but it makes my blood boil.

"Stop gawking at her," I hiss in his ear.

"Should I gawk at you instead?" he mockingly whispers back.

"Oh, shut up, Cato," I breathe, unable to conceal my blush. I don't want him romantically or sexually, but his flirtations get to me. Most boys get punched in the mouth for the things my best friend says. I know he only teases me, and that I could do him worse.

"You know you love it." His lips twitch. I roll my eyes and hope the cameras do not catch it.

He does well at his task of coming off like a brute. I go up and give the audience a glimpse of the cold ice princess who is out for blood. It goes by like a blur for me. I return to my designated seat and watch the other interviews. They do not capture my attention until Five.

She looks like she is hiding something, coming off as clever and sly. I expected no less, but her interview does not give me more reason to hate her… until she says she had _help from another tribute_.

Cato grabs my knee, seeing me tense and stopping me from pouncing on her.

I do not get over my anger until I witness something that enrages me more than Five's open mockery of me.

Twelve. Must. Die.

[X]

The four of us—five including Satin Athens—fume about Peeta Mellark after the finale of the interviews.

"It's an angle. It's a _front_ ," I snap, crossing my arms on the elevator.

Cato says nothing. He should agree with me! He should _loudly_ agree with me right now!

Brutus brusquely orders, "Kill him first. Don't give him a chance." He glares at Cato. "You can't trust a teenage boy with his hormones surging for some girl."

I turn to Enobaria. She states, "He's right, Clove. Take him down and take him down fast."

"I promise I will," I say, already envisioning a knife flying into his throat the moment the gun fires and the Games begin.

My anger keeps me from speaking any further after that vow.

[X]

On the last night before the 74th Hunger Games, Cato sits on the sofa, alone tonight. I stand in the hallway and wonder if I should sit by his side. After a few moments of internal debate, I decide against it. I have a more important place to spend the night; he is a big boy and can take care of himself.

Enobaria and I do not say a word for the longest time. We merely lie down on top of the blankets, locked in her room. I have calmed down since the interviews, but still cannot stop thinking about the little star-crossed lovers joke.

"Clove, I bought a token for you two days ago. It passed the inspection this morning," Enobaria says, sitting up. I do not move yet. "I know you don't have anything, but I believe that having something to go home to makes you fight harder. Dreams of glory aren't always enough."

She reaches into her drawers and unravels a dress I have never seen her wear. She picks up something small and shiny and then throws it at me. I reflexively grab it out of the air without a single thought.

"It's a ring," I whisper, not sure what it is. I refuse to make assumptions.

"You can put it on," says Enobaria.

I do. I slowly slide it on my right ring finger. Putting it on the left seems too presumptuous and I do not want to show weakness. In fact, my emotions have been so effectively beaten out of me that I feel almost nothing about the gesture. She looks as cold as I do.

"I had to get it while I was here. They just don't sell decent diamonds outside of One or the Capitol."

"It's… a diamond ring."

"It is." Enobaria still gives me no indication of what it means.

"I appreciate the gift," I clinically say, twisting it around my finger once. She watches like a hawk with her predatory dark eyes.

"You should go to sleep. Take the pills on my bedside table," Enobaria says, speaking as my mentor and not my lover.

I swallow them. After crawling beneath the soft covers, I turn to her and whisper, "I'll see you after the Games," although my heart pounds in my chest.

She flashes a fanged smile.

Her lack of visible concern makes me avert my eyes.

I should not be as frightened of the Games as I am.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_** _In this chapter, Clove throws that knife and the 74th Hunger Games becomes something very, very different than canon. Thank you for reading and I hope you're enjoying the show._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

Cordelia makes a confession to me in the dead of the night.

I sit awake in the silent Fifth Floor living room, trying to read a book but unable to focus on the words. I am not even certain I know the title, much less the subject matter. My harsh mentor kindly makes me hot chocolate and sits down beside me as she adds a dash of white liquor to her own crystal mug.

"I knew your mom a lot better than I told you I did," Cordelia says as soon as she has two cups of spiked cocoa in her system. "Truth is, kid, she was my best friend before I was Reaped. I had a lot of friends before then and lost them all, but we never really stopped seeing each other after I won. The only reason our friendship mostly ended was that we suddenly disagreed on a lot. I was done fighting for food or fighting for justice or anything after I fought in that damned Arena. And once I got out, I didn't _have_ to fight anymore. I offered to give your mom money, give her a place to live. She said no. She said she needed to fight so that everybody could live like I was getting to live."

That sounded like the woman I knew. She never would accept charity, pity or excuses. Due to that, I easily imagine her getting along well with Cordelia Shepherd.

"Why did she need to fight?" I whisper, leaning closer. Few people speak of my mother and I cannot begin to comprehend the depths of her relationship with Cordelia Shepherd. No one told me about it.

"She didn't know how to do anything else. But maybe I don't mean that. I don't know. I just know that your mom died for something she believed in," Cordelia wistfully says, her eyes glazing over. She faintly shivers at her memories, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. "It doesn't matter if her plan failed. It matters that she _tried_. When they called your name on Reaping Day, I knew that maybe Five finally had another winner. I saw it right in your eyes. If you have any of your momma in you, you're gonna fight like nobody's seen before."

I softly smile. "I _never_ will go down without a fight. Trust me on that."

Cordelia sighs with a glassy, wistful look in her emerald eyes.

"Can you listen closely to what I'm about to tell you?" she says, suddenly sounding sober. I perk up and close the book on my lap.

"Yes," I reply with a sharp nod.

Cordelia takes a deep breath and says, "Once the gun fires, run as fast as you can to a hiding place, but be able to see the cornucopia. The careers will have control of it after the bloodbath, but they'll leave to hunt down tributes before the hovercrafts come for the bodies. Wait until you're sure they're gone, then run and get anything you need."

I nod. That strategy never came to my attention, and I would not have thought of it without her guidance. She is not as bad of a mentor as I thought the surly older woman would be.

"Thank you for everything," I earnestly say, setting the book on the coffee table.

We do not exchange another word.

[X]

 _Five._

I gasp, standing on my platform. Did I lose fifty-five seconds being shocked at my change of scenery? I cannot afford to be slow in this hostile environment.

 _Four._

I glance around, seeking Clove. She will be the greatest hazard to me this morning.

 _Three._

After I count every tribute, glancing over their frightened or determined faces, I decide that she must stand opposite me; the cornucopia will block her view the same way it blocks mine. She cannot pull off an instant kill in time.

 _Two._

I glance behind me and see an easy path into the thick forest. That is a relief.

 _One._

I close my eyes, flinching.

 _Bang!_

I open them, inhale deeply and run like I never have before. Once or twice, targets of my burglary would come home unexpectedly. I had no choice but to race out of their house as fast as I could, but those escapes are nothing compared to how I run now.

Once I jump over a slick, mossy rock, I make a few complex maneuvers and hide down in the foliage while maintaining a clear view of the cornucopia. I trust Cordelia wholeheartedly, a difficult choice but one I made regardless of my earlier reservations.

All I can do now is wait.

[X]

The bloodbath cannons fire in late afternoon. I count them in my head. Twelve. Half of us died on the first day. In many ways, that relieves me, while in others, it makes me uneasy. I look up and see the hovercrafts removing the bodies. The careers left to hunt around twenty minutes ago, but I needed to wait until the Capitol collected the corpses. No one wise lingers near the bodies.

Once the hovercrafts leave, I jump to my feet and race nimbly to the cornucopia. I glance over my shoulders repeatedly before I delve into the goods the careers left behind. First, I need something to carry my supplies in. I empty the largest sleek backpack and find inside a sleeping bag and a lighter. I open a few more bags and collect four bottles of water, sliding them into the bag. Then I gather tablets to purify any I find. Those I tuck in the smallest packet.

Next, I track down the smallest packages of food and slide them inside. I have enough for four days, which must do for now. Next, I grab a plastic package of glow sticks. Making any light seems unwise to me, however, the thief in me craves the novel product.

I slide the sleeping bag back into the pack. Water, food, shelter, a lighter. Now I dig through the countless shiny silver weapons and find two small knives. One, I slide into the bag. The other, I keep in my hand. Water, food, shelter, a lighter, a weapon. I am set.

Then I see something I cannot resist. It is a silver bow and shimmering arrows. While I have no idea how to use it and no way to learn, I am strong enough to carry it for now, and, even if I do not use it, it is one less powerhouse weapon for the careers to use. Besides, a weapon this good is an excellent bargaining chip if I ever need an alliance. They always work better in alliance negotiations than food or lighters.

I lick my lips, grab the bow and quiver, and as quickly as I came, scamper away to trek deeper into the woods.

[X]

At dusk, I decide to settle deep in the underbrush, beneath the thickest trees, and roll out my sleeping bag. I curl up in it and gaze up at the sky, waiting for the faces. That will be my only advantage other than the well-stocked backpack.

The Capitol anthem blares and the headshots begin to flash. The girl from District Three. The boy from District Four. Aster died quickly. I expected that. Districts Six and Seven are out of the running. The boy from Eight. The bloodbath also obliterated Nine. Next the girl from District Ten. Finally, the boy from Twelve.

I know I should be relieved by his death; he would be a dangerous contender with his unusually high score and strong motivation to preserve the life of Katniss, but I feel sad for him.

I never believed in love. No; I suppose believe in it for other people but not for myself. Despite those reservations, I think this Arena could use some compassion and love. Maybe the lovers from Two will take the place of Peeta and Katniss.

The Capitol will want star-crossed lovers now that they have had a taste of it.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

As I stand on my platform during the countdown, I drink in as much of the Arena as I can. A sentence keeps coming to my mind over and over.

I remember it from a wall on the Academy on which the Heads pinned the tenets. I read them a thousand times while standing in that hallway. Above those framed rules and values, someone engraved a quotation on the wall with beautiful cursive lettering.

 _We are evil men in the Garden of Paradise, sent by the forces of death to spread destruction wherever we go._

This Arena reminds me of those words. I have never seen so much _green_ before, nor the countless plants surrounding me. It is the Garden of Paradise. At my platform and other points in the circle stand the career allies who will stain the verdant grass red with blood. We are the evil men.

When the gun fires and the chaos begins, I run directly to the Cornucopia, grab the set of knives left there by the Gamemakers for me, and try to find either Foxy or lover boy. I do not catch the girl from District Five, but I see my secondary target edging away from the bloodbath.

I throw my first knife.

It pierces the neck of the boy from District Twelve, and he immediately collapses, dead on the ground. I swiftly turn my attention to where I saw Five, but I only lay eyes on her district partner. With another smooth, fluid motion of my arm, I throw a knife that steals his life in one hit and he collapses just like lover boy. Foxy, however, is nowhere to be found.

I turn to the others and take as many kills as I can.

[X]

When the screams end and the smoke clears, I meet up with Glimmer, Marvel, Shony—the girl from District Four—and Cato. We all glance at each other's faces before Marvel speaks out of turn.

"Where's Twelve?" he demands, when by all rights Cato should have opened the conversation.

"She ran off," Cato gruffly says, obviously miffed. We all wished to kill her as early as possible.

"No, the boy," Marvel snaps, irately rolling his eyes.

"I killed him first," I sharply say, tapping a knife on my thigh. He makes me impatient.

"Glimmer and me and Shony all agreed to give him a chance, since Shony's partner was useless and had to die in the bloodbath. Twelve had an eight in training and knows how fire girl got her eleven. We planned to take him prisoner and use his information. If he killed Shony's partner and fire girl we'd let him in the alliance. He was better than Four and almost as good as Eleven."

"I said I would kill him on the first day and I did it. We can find fire girl on our own," I say.

With a sneer, Marvel indignantly snarls, "We could've _found_ fire girl by now if we gave our lover boy idea a chance."

"You honestly think he'd give her away?" Cato demands. " _If_ he was telling the truth, he would sacrifice anything to protect her. If he was lying, he's too manipulative to even trust for a second."

"Why should me and Glimmer stick with you then? You obviously have no mind for strategy. Prisoners have been very useful in past Games," Marvel snarks.

I reply, "Cato and I already agreed to kill him first. I told him and my mentors I would."

"Right." Marvel rolls his eyes. My cheeks burn. "Because someone like _you_ always keeps her promises."

"Someone like _me_ knows how to back up her talk with actions, unlike _you_. If I say I'm going to do something, I _do it_ ," I snarl. "Just like when I killed lover boy. If you three wanted him in your alliance, then _too bad_. Stop whining and pay attention to the Games ahead before I announce my intentions to cut off your fingers."

"I agree with Clove," gruffly says Cato.

Marvel risks his worthless life by sarcastically commenting, " _That's_ a surprise."

Cato lunges forward and grabs him by the neck, pinning him against the side of the cornucopia. He has the good sense to clamp his hand over Marvel's mouth before the boy can scream. That is good form in the Arena where the slightest sound could give away our position to nearby prey. I watch with a small, amused smirk as Cato holds the arrogant boy there by the neck.

 _One, two, three, four…_

Marvel loses his cool and bites Cato's hand. It does him no good, but my best friend releases him. I take a moment to drink in the wobbling knees of the boy from District One. Satisfying.

Cato growls, "I agree with Clove because we can't start being pathetic wimps and _regret_ deaths. Every dead body is one less in the way of victory. You people should keep that in mind."

Glimmer smugly snaps, flipping her golden hair, "Yeah, Marvel."

I roll my eyes at the spectacle.

Lowly, I ask of my obtuse allies, "Can we just get to hunting?"

"At least there are more swords to go around without loverboy," mutters Glimmer, holding her blade towards the light of the sun.

The blood on it shimmers in the light.

[X]

My alliance only manages to kill one tribute on the first night, and she almost survived. This was a disappointing beginning and I sulk about it while we set up camp at the cornucopia. Glimmer sets her sleeping bag as close to Cato's as possible. At first I want to kill her, but then I see how much it aggravates Marvel and smirk to myself. That makes it worth it in the end.

"I'm not going on first watch," says the boy from District One. "I finished off the girl from Eight, so I should at least get that input."

Cato gives him a careless glance. "Whatever. Glimmer can do it. Then me, then Shony, then Clove, then we all wake up and track down fire girl. Since you need your beauty sleep so bad, you don't have to take watch at all."

Marvel scowls, but he got what he wanted so I doubt he will talk back.

I lie down and doubt I will sleep much, tired as I am from running through the woods with a flashlight. For what feels like hours, I twist my ring around my finger again and again, hoping the dull motion will lull me to sleep. It does not. I drift aimlessly with my eyes closed until I jolt wide awake.

What felt like hours must have only been a few minutes. I sit up and slip out of my sleeping bag. Slowly, I glance around for Glimmer and at first do not see her. I grab a knife as my fight mode flicks on like a light switch.

She must have betrayed us.

Then, I see her fast asleep at her post.

I grip my blade tight in my fist as I walk to her and kick her awake. She yelps and fumbles for her sword. I smack it out of her hand.

"You were _asleep_ on _watch_!" I snarl with the force of one of the Academy mentors. "Do you know what the punishment is for sleeping on watch? _Death_!"

Strong arms grab me before I can kill Glimmer.

Cato whispers in my ear, "It's my turn. She's off watch, Clove. She's off watch and she has been for at least an hour."

I catch my breath and feel my cheeks grow hot. Thankfully, the dark masks all evidence of my humiliation.

"I think we should just kill her and Marvel. They can't stop us."

"We aren't going to break the plan Brutus and Enobaria gave us unless we have to."

"Why? They aren't in here with us."

"Because when you say you're going to do something, you do it," he sternly says.

I recall my earlier assertion and sigh.

"Fine, but they're on thin ice in my mind."

Glimmer's green eyes flash from fear at my words.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N:_** _My inspiration for this chapter is in the middle of the_ _Hunger Games_ _when Katniss considers asking Foxface to ally with her and Rue. I always thought they'd be an interesting trio._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

On the third day of the Hunger Games, I creep through the forest. My brother always says my stealth is a natural gift, and not just practice. However, I consider him unreliable on the topic since my mother nicknamed him 'leaps and bounds' due to how loudly he walks.

"Sol," hisses a voice from above and I freeze. "Sol, the careers are coming this way. You should hide."

I look up and see wide tawny eyes. Rue.

"How do you know?" I whisper.

"I've been in the trees. I just went over them."

The sudden sound of a machete hacking a branch and the trampling of too many feet prove her words true.

I take deep breaths to stop myself from panicking and hurry through the underbrush and stumble down towards a stream. Cautiously, I insert myself in a small crevice on the muddy banks. I hear their footsteps and hushed voices until they fade into the distance.

Exhaling a soft sigh of relief, I close my eyes tightly and count to one hundred before I emerge from my hiding place and see Rue hiding by the stream. I freeze and contemplate the best strategic move.

What I do may be foolish, but I cannot help myself. I reach into my bag; her small body tenses from fear. But when I pull out two bags of food and pass them to her, she smiles like she has never see anything like it before.

"This is just a thank you," I softly say. "I still don't know about allies."

"It's okay," says Rue, pushing the food into her own tiny pack and shooting me another youthful smile that makes my stomach twist. "Maybe I'll see you, Sol."

"Maybe I'll see you, Rue," I whisper as she disappears upstream.

I gather my things and plunge deeper into the cover of the forest.

[X]

The smell of smoke makes me stop in my tracks and turn around. I run as fast as I can away from the radiating heat. It makes no sense; I was just striding through the ice cold night when I suddenly saw a wildfire burning up the trees. It licks at my heels as I run and do not hesitate to jump off of a rocky cliff into a cold pool of water.

I sink lower and lower. We had a river in District 5. It fed into the reservoir by the hydroelectric plants and sometimes kids would swim in it after school or on the hottest summer days. I learned to swim, but not like this.

All I can do is respond to the primal terror by clawing at the surface until my head emerges and I gasp. I taste acrid smoke when I do, but I swim away and pull myself onto the other bank.

I do not think the fire was targeted at me. If I were meant to be culled, I would know it.

Cautiously, I walk into the forest and find a good place to spend the rest of the chilly night. I set up a sleeping bag beneath a cover of branches that disguise my temporary den.

It takes ages to fall asleep. No one died today. The fire must not have been a successful move by the gamemakers, which means they will try something else soon. I try to think about it, then try not to think about it, and at last fall asleep.

Hours later, as pink touches in the sky mark sunrise, I wake up with a knife at my throat. My eyes widen; at first I think it is 2. Then I see the silvery eyes of Katniss Everdeen.

She furrows her brow. "I just need the bow. I won't hurt you if you just give it to me."

I _want_ to trust her, but I do not.

"You'll just shoot me with it," I whisper, desperately glancing around for an escape.

Katniss frowns. "If I wanted to kill you, I would've slit your throat while you were still sleeping. Just give it to me. It's how I got my eleven."

I slowly set my hand on the weapon I stole.

"Are you alone?" I ask, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.

"Yes," Katniss says confidently. I wonder why she does not lie. Maybe she _is_ lying.

"I figured you'd team up with Peeta but…" I see a flicker of pain in her eyes, but I immediately know that the love was not reciprocated. Somehow, that only makes it sadder. "I can get anything you need from the career camp since I'm really good at stealing and getting things from them even if they're not out and—and I'm… I'm not great with words. We could be allies."

Katniss hesitates. I hand her the bow.

"Thanks," she bluntly says, the word clearly uncomfortable on her tongue. She turns to leave but someone stands in her way.

"You can trust her. She gave me food and she's really nice," says Rue.

Katniss shakes her head. "I told you to stay in the tree while I got the bow."

"Are you two…?" I point between them, revealing my shaking fingers.

"Me and Katniss climbed the same tree during the fire. We… we're working together."

"Right, and we should be going. Bye," Katniss says, turning on her heel and walking away from me. She groans when she sees Rue's face and then turns around. "Take us to the career camp and help us get supplies, _then_ you can ally with us."

"I wasn't…" _planning on allies_. Somehow, that does not matter to me anymore. "I'll help you."

Katniss crosses her arms, but when Rue nods, she softens. I wonder how people who have known each other for hours at most could be so attached. It must have to do with the sister Katniss volunteered for, and I place my bet on that. It comforts me, at least.

"Let's go, Sol," Rue says with a wide smile.

Katniss adjusts her bow and nods for us to follow.

[X]

"I have food, and there's more we can get from the Cornucopia," I quietly say, opening my backpack to show Katniss. Please let her not kill me with that new bow. Please.

"We should save that. I set up snares earlier and I'll catch us dinner. But I don't think it'll hurt to raid the career stash as soon as we can," says the de facto leader of our alliance.

I nod and sit down. "I'll stay here with Rue," I say and she stares at me for a long while before she nods and vanishes into the woods.

At our campsite, as time wears by, I sit alone with Rue while Katniss checks snares she refuses to show me. Rue weaves flowers in my hair and I let her. When she finishes, she sticks my comb back in and then makes quick work of her own hair.

"You're even better than a Hunger Games stylist," I whisper and Rue beams. "I probably look like a princess, because you certainly do."

"You do too," Rue insists, nodding.

I hear footsteps and jump to attention, my heart beginning to race. Then I see Katniss holding two dead rabbits. My stomach churns at the sight of the animals. It makes me feel sick to see the blood on their fur but I manage to hold it together.

"You guys did your hair?" Katniss asks, clearly holding back laughter. She sets down her kills and pulls a knife from her bag. "It's, uh, interesting."

Rue holds up a handful of the flowers that sit in a huge pile beside her. "Your braid is next, Katniss," she says with a wicked smile.

"I'll look ridiculous," Katniss says, slicing into the dead rabbits. I cannot hold back a quiet gasp at the ripping sound.

"We should match. We're a team. I'm nicknaming us the Flower Girls," says Rue with a gleam in her eyes.

I expect Katniss to protest, but she just shakes her head with an amused smile.

"So, we're the Flower Girls then?" I say, struggling to speak up.

"I guess," Katniss grumbles. "You can put _one_ in my braid, Prim."

Rue blinks several times. I pretend that I did not hear the slip up, because Katniss does not seem to notice the mistake in her words.

I focus intently on the throwing knife on my lap while Katniss cooks the rabbits. Rue eats a few of the dried fruits I gave her yesterday while we wait. I focus on trying to carve a stick into a point for no good reason.

Once Katniss finishes, she hands a leg to Rue, a leg to me and sets the rest on the coals.

"I've never had a whole leg to myself before," says Rue, her eyes wide. She reminds me of Volt when I bring him home something particularly exciting.

"Do you want the other?" Katniss offers, handing over one without receiving an answer.

"I figured you would have more food," I softly say. "District Eleven grows it."

Rue's eyes widen. "Oh, no, we're not allowed to eat the crops."

"I didn't mean to scare you," I hoarsely breathe, blushing as red as my hair.

"I'm not scared. Just surprised," Rue insists, patting my knee.

I must be pathetic in the eyes of my opponents and the audience. A twelve-year-old thinks I need to be cared for in the Games.

[X]

In the morning, I lead Katniss and Rue down towards the lake. We reach the place where I hid during the bloodbath and I kneel down, prompting them to do the same. I see the boy from District Three of all places, guarding the supplies.

Then I see how far away from the Cornucopia the supplies are now, and that they have wrapped a net around the pyramid they built. It seems foolish to set the stash up in a way that leaves it so vulnerable to theft or the whims of the gamemakers.

"This is bad," I whisper, frowning. Something is very wrong.

"What is?" Katniss asks, narrowing her eyes.

"They moved the supplies…"

"So?"

"They just…" I feel something _off_ , but I do not know what. "Let me go ahead. I'll take a look."

"Fine," says Katniss, and I creep forward.

After cautiously watching the movements of the boy from Three, I emerge from the forest, knowing the coast is clear. I study the path to the stacks of supplies and see the ground dug up in odd places and put back together. They were burying things.

I hear a scream coming from the forest and a cannon fires. I drop my knife and the world erupts around me. I cannot cover my mouth or think twice, but, thankfully, my howl is softer than the sound of the explosion. My back hits the ground, knocking the winds out of me. My arms ache from what I know are burns. I close my eyes and exhale.

Next thing I know, I stare up at trees and the blue sky. I crane my neck and see Katniss Everdeen carrying me through the forest with Rue speeding along at her side. She sets me down and I try to find words but decide against them.

It takes a long time, but I at last say, "Why did you save me?"

"We're allies," bluntly says Katniss. "They buried mines around their stash."

"I figured that out," I whisper, and I begin to laugh.

Rue does next. Katniss faintly smiles, but does not join in.

[X]

"I could figure it out," I say, knowing the countless security systems I have found my way around. "I could still get what we need."

Katniss shakes her head. "I'm not giving up on that idea, but you're not in any condition to hop around a minefield. We need to get your burns healed up before we do anything."

"How do we do that?" I demand.

"I don't really know yet," admits Katniss. "I'm working on it. I'll go find something to eat."

She pulls her bow from her back as she rushes off into the forest to hunt. I try to adjust my position but just wince and fall back into a heap against the tree.

"We're some alliance," I mutter. When Rue edges closer to me, I know she heard, and I blush.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. I just…" I sigh. "Maybe it would be better if I just left. I could see if my mentor will send me anything for the burns or…" _limp off into the woods to die like an animal._

Rue sets her hand on my knee. "You're one of the Flower Girls and you can't leave. We might not be as strong as the career alliance but it's better than being alone."

I close my eyes.

"What can we do that they can't?"

"We've had to fight for our whole lives. That's why we lived."

I open my eyes.

"Cordelia—my mentor—she said something about that. She said slum kids from my district were the only winners. They know how to make sacrifices to survive. To feed themselves."

"The careers can't do that," says Rue, a twinkle in her protuberant eyes.

"What if those mines were _all_ to go off?" I slowly say. "We'd all be on an equal playing field. They can fight better than us, but they aren't good at hiding and they definitely can't hunt like Katniss or find berries and nuts that are safe like you and me."

"We could destroy their food," Rue eagerly says.

I smirk through my pain, whispering, "And destroy their advantage."

When Katniss returns, she loves the crazy idea as much as we do.

[X]

After I get on my feet, the pain still kills. All I can think about it how much my skin and bones hurt, but I have to help Rue forage for food while Katniss hunts and checks snares. Every time I dig in the dirt or pluck berries I clench my jaw to hide the pain.

As we work in the early afternoon, Rue squints at the paintbrush flowers that line the woods. The white and purple ones still poke up here and there, but the sector of the Arena we entered is filled to the brim with red ones.

"What are these? I've never seen them," asks Rue.

"Prairie fire," I say. "They grow like crazy in my district."

"Prairie fire?" curiously asks Rue, blinking several times. Her eyelashes flutter.

"Mhm," I reply, rummaging around for roots.

She plucks a few. "These are for Katniss. Since she's the Girl on Fire."

I nod.

She continues, "If you could be any flower, what would you be?"

"I would be a rose," I say, thinking of the beauty alone.

"I'd be a sunflower. They're taller than me and so bright and big and strong!" Rue laughs. I smile; it is infectious. "If you could be any animal, what would you be?"

"A fox," I do not hesitate to reply.

"I would be a mockingjay."

"A mockingjay?"

"Yeah. Katniss has a pin with one on it. That's why I decided to trust her in the tree instead of running away. I like how they sing." Rue smiles faintly, as if remembering a particular melody. "And they just seem so free and happy and they can do whatever they want."

"Mhm," I reply. I know few things about birds, but I do know mockingjays are jabberjays gone rogue. My mother had a book about them.

"If you could be any—" Pounding paws cut off her statement. I hear them approaching like war drums, crushing the ground beneath them as they become closer and closer.

I grab Rue and throw her over my good shoulder, running as fast as I can away from the three mutts that emerged from nowhere. My injuries make me slip and the burns hurt with every move, but I would rather face the pain of wounds than the pain of sharp teeth.

We run and run and do not seem to escape the sights of the growling beasts with frothing mouths. Then one of them squeaks and hits the ground. I spin around and fall, Rue collapsing on top of me. I sit up, pushing her behind me and yelping from the pain it causes my arm. The other two mutts drop dead and I look up to see Katniss holding a bow and removing an arrow from its notch.

She saved us.

[X]

That night, Katniss and Rue whisper while I stare up at the sky and wait for the faces.

The girl from Four and the boy from Ten both died.

It is just me, Katniss, Rue, Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, Clove, the boy from Three, and Thresh. I have made it far, but almost all of the careers are in the way of victory, not to mention the alliance of two girls I cannot bear the thought of killing.

I fall asleep in a damp puddle that dripped silently from my eyes.

[X]

In the morning, Katniss announces, "Today, we blow up their supplies. Sol, you come with me to get whatever we need before I set off the mines. Rue, you distract the careers. Make three campfires with as much smoke as possible to draw their attention."

We both nod as she takes inventory. Rue hands me her pack to fill at the Cornucopia and teaches us a three note tune. I cannot whistle, so I suppose I am reliant on Katniss in that department. Rue hugs Katniss and I take a few steps back to be out of their way, but the little girl wraps her arms around me too.

After that quick goodbye, I guide Katniss through the forest to my hiding place. We edge closer and closer, being as cautious as possible until we reach a point close enough to the supply pyramid that Katniss can find her target and I can sneak away anything useful.

Katniss stares at the pyramid of supplies. I study the dug-up ground. We like the silence, but she breaks it. "I don't think I can set off all of the mines in one hit and I need to conserve arrows."

"Look for something," I say. "I don't know what."

We see the careers now. They seem to be in an argument but I cannot hear them. The girl from Four died, but Clove should be with them.

"What's wrong with you?" Katniss whispers, knitting her brow.

"Where's Clove?" I ask Katniss and she briefly looks confused, so I clarify, "The girl from Two."

"Out hunting, I guess," Katniss whispers. "Now let me focus on how to set these things off."

I creep forward and edge through the shadows until I can hear some of their conversation.

"We have to go back for her," Cato growls. Marvel, Glimmer and the boy from Three glare at him, but, when he glowers back, they all shrink. "We have to find Clove."

"She could be dead," says Glimmer, waving her hand.

"Did you hear a cannon?" Cato snarls.

Marvel spits, "What happened to each corpse being one death closer to victory?"

Cato sighs and resumes scanning the woods. He sees the smoke from the first fire and his eyebrows shoot up.

"I'm going after her, whether you like it or not, pretty boy," he says, and I suppose he is blinded enough by love of his district partner to fall easily for our trap.

Glimmer races after him, her hair swooshing in the light wind. Marvel's lips contort into a grimace before he barks an order at the scared boy from Three and then runs after his allies. I take this as an invaluable opportunity.

I wait for the boy from Three to calm down and settle before I scamper onto the clearing and examine the torn up ground. I could blow up and die. I could _not_ blow up and still die. I could _not_ blow up and get my last chance at supplies. The third outcome is worth the risk.

Slowly, I prance around the obvious scars on the ground. I hold my breath the whole time and only breathe again once I am at the large pile of supplies. Hastily but nimbly, I drain the bags of anything important that can fit in the three joined packs. Once I fill them, I back away and repeat my motions to return to the woods.

Katniss raises her bow and unleashes a small avalanche of apples.

 _Bang_.

[X]

I cannot hear anything but ringing in my ears, so that cannon of the boy from Three does not register; I just see him impaled by his own spear. Cato was swift about that.

Katniss grabs my arm and helps me to my feet. She says something but I only see her lips move and never was any good at reading them. We stumble through the woods, trying to make as much distance between the geared-up and running careers and us.

We stagger towards where Rue was to set the third fire, but stop as soon as we are far out of sight. I sit down, gasping for breath. Katniss rubs her bloody ear. I can hear again but I do not know if she can. I consider it best to keep my mouth shut.

"What did you get?" Katniss rasps.

I open the bags and let her look through them. She exhales a sigh of relief and sits back on her haunches.

Now we must catch up with Rue.

[X]

We hike through the woods, my burns and new injuries from the explosion making every step torture. At last, we reach the deserted location of the third fire.

"She's gotta be treed somewhere nearby," Katniss insists and I nod once.

When she turns direction, I turn too. We walk and walk and walk until we hear the unmistakable voice of our ally screaming, "Katniss! Katniss!"

"Rue!" Katniss howls, and I force myself to limp after her as she breaks through into the clearing.

I see Rue tangled in a net, bleeding profusely. While I back into the shadows with my hand over my mouth, Katniss runs forward and shoots Marvel squarely in the chest. He dies before he even notices us, and his cannon fires.

Katniss kneels by Rue as I stand back, horrified. They whisper, Katniss weakly smiles through tears. For the first time, I see her cry.

She sings a song about meadows and pillows and willows as I remain a coward and hide in the shadows. After Rue's cannon fires, Katniss cries hysterically. I stand and listen to her harrowing sobs before she stands and starts gathering flowers.

"Help me!" Katniss barks.

I have no idea what she plans to do, but I hasten to move and gather as many as I can. Once I drop a pile at Katniss's feet, she tucks them around Rue until she looks like a beautiful princess sleeping in a meadow, not a dead girl in a sick game.

All I do is stand there like a coward. Katniss weaves a crown from white, yellow and violet flowers and places it on Rue's head. She clasps Rue's hand around a small bouquet and stands back to gaze down at the glorious funeral she gave.

Katniss presses three fingers of her hand to her lips and raises them to the sky, mirroring the gesture her district gave on the tapes of the Reapings. Seeing those seems like a lifetime ago.

"We should go," I whisper, squeezing Katniss's arm.

She nods and we begin to run away from the two bodies, Marvel in a pool of blood, slumped at an awkward angle, and Rue, laid out like a queen surrounded by flowers.

We do not make it far before someone else emerges from the bushes in one fluid motion. I should have expected the careers to never wholly split up. The flash of blonde hair is all I need to see to know what I am dealing with.

Before I can even think of a way out of this, Glimmer drives her sword through the tribute from Twelve. I stand, mute and petrified. Katniss slashes an arrow across Glimmer's arm, making the career drop her sword and run away. She must think Katniss is as good as dead. When I see the profuse bleeding, I think the same thing.

I kneel down by Katniss, my eyes wide. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I try to think of something, _anything_ , to say.

"What did that thing mean? With your fingers?" I softly ask.

"In Twelve, it means thanks, admiration, goodbye to someone you love," Katniss chokes out.

I wipe the blood from her lips.

 _Keep her talking. Keep her talking._

"Tell me about District Twelve," I decide upon and Katniss laughs for some reason. She then seems to realize I am serious and her expression becomes thoughtful.

"Not much to say about it…" says Katniss as she begins her story, but she paints a detailed image with her sparse words.

I sit, blinking back tears, trying to look strong in front of the cameras.

Katniss says, after a drawn out silence, "Promise me you'll take care of Prim when you win."

"I won't win. Everybody left could snap me in half," I say earnestly.

"You're smarter than them. You'll win," Katniss rasps. "So take care of Prim, okay?"

I nod, deciding not to argue any further.

She weakly nods and falls silent a few minutes. I rest beside her as she survives the night but do not let myself hope she will see the sunrise. At some point, I drift into a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep.

A cannon fires, waking me. My face hurts from the tears I shed in my sleep.

I sit up and look down at Katniss. When I touch her skin, she is cold.

My first thought is her reaction to Rue. I do not cry and scream like she did, and there is no one I can kill to satisfy the need for revenge. But I remember my cousin coming home in a plain wooden box, given a careless funeral. Katniss gave Rue what she deserved, and someone who did such a thing deserves it too, even if I know I can not do it as much justice.

I stand and instead of the white flowers Katniss chose, I find the prairie fire. I always loved the beautiful plant and its striking orange. Hastily, I pick as much as I can and drape them over my ally.

I close her eyes so she looks like she is asleep and lay her hands by her sides.

When I rise again and step back, silent tears pouring from my eyes, I see that the Girl on Fire burns once more, before her flame will be eternally extinguished.

"I'll take care of Prim," I whisper, "but you better take care of Rue."

I stand up and, feeling I intrude on something sacred, weakly touch my fingers to my lips and raise them to the sky.

I am the last Flower Girl.

I am alone.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

On the third day of the Hunger Games, our trek through the woods turns out to be fruitless. Oh, except for Glimmer getting her leg injured running away from a wildfire that sprung out of nowhere. It spurts and bleeds profusely as tears stream from her eyes. Cato carries her from the forest and sets her down beside the Cornucopia. Marvel and Shony dig through the stack of supplies trying to find medicine, but I know such an expensive item only comes from sponsors.

Cato sits with her and rolls his eyes every once in a while. I quietly sharpen a stick into a point with one of my knives.

Glimmer turns to me, those green eyes brimming with glistening tears, and she says, "Clove, can you help me? I think that stick burst an artery." She bats her eyelashes. "I know you have a heart."

"Do not try to play on my _sympathies_. You'll find I have none," I snap. "But there is _one_ thing I can do." I turn up to the Cornucopia. "Shony, get me a lighter!"

The girl from Four nods and digs for a few moments before she grabs one and tosses it down to me. Glimmer looks horrified as I sterilize and heat the metal of my knife. Cato sees what I am doing and pulls up Glimmer's pant leg, setting his hand near the puncture wound. I grab my knife and press it down. She screams so loudly that the mockingjays vacate the trees, echoing her cry of pan.

Cato says, "That should stop the bleeding. We can clean it up once Marvel and Shony become _useful_ and you'll be fine."

" _Fine_?" she snarls. " _Fine_? You just _let_ your girlfriend do that to people?"

Cato glowers. "She saved your life, and she didn't have to do that. Show some respect."

Glimmer pouts and I ignore her.

[X]

Shony shows up after bathing in the lake—District Four, ugh—with the scrawny boy from District Three in tow. I grab the handle of one of my knives and Cato draws his sword. Glimmer and Marvel look up and set their hands on their weapons.

"He says he can reactivate the mines!" Shony shouts.

Cato frowns. We all look to him, and so he stands up and kicks the boy from Three to the ground.

"That's impossible," Cato growls, brandishing his sword. I perk up.

"No. No, it's not. I researched it. I can reactivate them and you can protect your camp."

Cato glares and growls, "We have weapons and training."

"P-protect your food then," he stammers, his voice scratching on the last syllable. "While you're out hunting."

Cato crosses his arms. He glances over his shoulder at me and I subtly shrug.

"Show us with one. I'm keeping my sword on you at _all times_ so don't _try anything_. You'll be dead before you even start," he says and I have never seen someone nod so fervently.

It makes me snicker.

[X]

While Cato, Marvel and Shony force the boy from Three to do his work, I walk with Glimmer down to the lake to purify water for lunch.

"Girl talk time," chimes Glimmer and I mime gagging.

"I don't girl talk," I say, but my words do not deter Glimmer.

"Cato, Cato, Cato. I noticed that he's so in love with you. It's obvious. And I _also_ noticed your ring. It's _gorgeous_. Did he give it to you?"

I open my mouth to snap at her, but then I see the opportunity rise. This could be an angle. While I do not need one when I am strong enough to slaughter this entire Arena alone with one knife, a tribute was never hurt by a storyline. The gamemakers never cull them.

"Yes. We're engaged," I say, and I clench my jaw as I realize that Enobaria will kill me once I win. Or at least yell at me. "I was going to marry him, but we both were chosen to volunteer and didn't have a choice. I love him."

"I'm sorry," Glimmer croons, pulling me into her arms.

I shove her away. "Don't be."

She still gives me a soft, pitying smile.

[X]

After Three sets up the mines and proves they work, we leave him with a spear and go to hunt in the forest. We walk for miles without finding a tribute. I play with my knives while Cato tries to come up with a plan. Ugh. We must be the _worst_ careers in history.

Then, as Cato looks about to give up and punch a tree, the boy from Ten comes hobbling at us. I did not know a cripple could run that fast. It does not take a genius to find something wrong with this picture, and when something pounces from the trees and tears his throat out with its huge fangs, Marvel screams, and we all stumble backwards, grabbing our weapons.

We all run from the monsters, even though we _should_ fight them. Five of the huge saber-toothed beasts chase us down and I round a corner, bursting through a thicket of trees and Shony tries to follow me. One of the monsters sinks its teeth into her arm and rips it from her body. Her blood splashes on my face and I duck down, crawling away from the beasts as quietly as I can.

She screams and screams as it devours her behind me.

Once Shony dies, the attack ends. I stand up and walk into a clearing.

"Cato," I hiss, looking around for him. "Cato. Cato!"

I give up before I give myself away.

Slowly, I search around the clearing for the way back to camp but cannot find it. I try to climb a tree but it does not support the weight of my muscles. With a sigh, I slump down with my back against it. The sun sets and I know I will not make it to the lake tonight.

I am stranded away from my alliance.

I am alone.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Next chapter, the FoxfacexClove finally starts. Thank you for your patience and your support, and I hope you're enjoying the show._


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

Me, Clove, Cato, Glimmer, Thresh. Me, Clove, Cato, Glimmer, Thresh. Me, Clove, Cato, Glimmer, Thresh. Me and Clove and Cato and Glimmer and Thresh.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my scream of rage. Without Katniss to defend me, I am _dead_. I am a _dead_ girl walking.

For hours, I wander. After a while, I get hungry and start to rummage for roots and pluck berries. I tear a few purple ones off of a bush and almost put them in my mouth before I realize what I am doing.

Nightlock. I would be dead in an instant.

Silence. I stare at the berry pinched between my thumb and forefinger.

Dead in an instant does not sound bad compared to the opponents waiting to torture me. It would be an easy way out. No one would even know it was suicide if I played it right.

I hesitate. They will draw out the Final Five; they always do. I pick as much nightlock as I can and tuck it into the front pocket of my pack. This suicide is not a bad idea, but I have time to think of an alternate plan while the gamemakers milk every last cent out of the remaining tributes.

Night falls and I look up at the sky as the Capitol anthem blares.

Marvel's face flashes first and I think little of it. When I see Rue and Katniss in the sky, tears blossom in my eyes. I sink to the ground and try to hide from the cameras as I let them fall. But, I bet the Capitol sees my weakness.

I get my sleeping bag from my pack and slip into it, hiding in the underbrush, nestled against the trunk of a tree. As I lie there, I wonder if Thresh would ally with me. He still is a wild card and I might be able to talk him into protecting me until the end.

After remaining awake for hours, I get up, roll up my sleeping back, and take off into the woods. I have to find Thresh. I have to find Thresh. I have to find Thresh.

As providence would have it, Clove waits for me in a clearing.

She sleeps deeply in the dead of the night, curled up in a ball beneath a tree, as overconfident as a career would be, I creep through the shadows. Slowly, I kneel beside her and remove her knives. When she stirs, I clamp my hand over my mouth to contain my gasp of shock. After waiting for a few moments, I finish my work and climb the tree above her.

It takes me a few deep breaths to fully commit to my plan. I start tearing bark from the tree and dropping it, bit by bit, until one lands on her forehead and she jumps up, reaching for a knife she no longer has. Surprisingly, shame crosses her face instead of rage.

I imagine it would embarrass a career to let her guard down so significantly.

Clove scowls at me, does not say a word, and tries to climb the tree. The branches do not support her weight and she makes a sound like an angry cat. She is too heavy; she probably never has missed a meal in her life.

"Give me my knives, Five!" she shouts with a terrifying fire in her eyes. "If you give them up now, I'll be gentle when I kill you. If you keep toying with me like an idiot, you will suffer beyond imagining at my hands."

I bat my eyelashes at her. "I'm not stupid. I think it's very comfortable up here and these are very nice throwing knives."

Clove grabs a rock from the ground and chucks it at my face. I barely manage to dodge it, and am left breathless when I straighten my back again.

"You know you're going to die soon, anyway, don't you?" Clove purrs, regaining her confidence. "Everyone left in this Arena could snap you in half. I doubt you'll last a day even _if_ you escape me, which is doubtful. The odds aren't in your favor."

"I wanted to make you an offer," I say. "Or I would've just taken the weapons and run away before you woke up. I think we should make an alliance."

Clove scoffs, then bursts into mocking laughter. "Are you serious? You think I would _ever_ ally with a scrawny weakling like you?"

"We could stir the pot if we team up," I say, tightening my grip on the knife I know will not save me. "We could make history. Isn't that what you care about? Being remembered forever? You _know_ you can easily beat me in the end. Can you say the same about Thresh or Glimmer?"

I leave out Cato. It might be best not to remind her of him.

Clove chews on her knuckle and then sighs. "Stir the pot? Not the proposition I was expecting, so I will briefly entertain your delusions. What can you do that would make you useful to me?"

"I snuck up on you in your sleep and took your knives without you noticing. I stole from your camp more than once. I blew up your supplies," I say, nodding at the smoke that still rises from the lake. Then the lies tumble from my lips like jewels. "I killed both Katniss Everdeen and Marvel. I could help you. I wanted to ally with you from the start."

That is a lie, but I make it sound convincing. She has enough of an ego for it to work.

"You got Twelve and Marvel?" Clove asks incredulously. But, despite her shock, she believes me; I see it in her eyes. "How?"

I force a smirk. "With stealth, just like I could've done to you. They never saw me coming."

Clove chews on her knuckle again. "You'd do the same to me in an instant."

"I didn't. I could've killed you like them but I kept you alive. I want to ally with you and make Hunger Games history. I want to stir the pot," I insist yet again.

Clove frowns. "Or… I can sit here and wait. You have to come down eventually, and then I will snap your little neck."

She sits down, facing the tree, with a trace of a smug smirk on her lips. I was not counting on that, and so I clutch my pack tighter to me. She _cannot_ get these knives.

"Stir the pot, Two," I whisper, but to no avail.

I have made a grave error.

At least I have the nightlock in my bag.

* * *

 **CLOVE**

* * *

I have Foxy treed, and now I must wait. The fact that she managed to steal my knives as I slept means I could _never_ trust her as an ally. I need to kill her. So, I sit, very patiently, not taking my eyes off of her for a moment; she _cannot_ get a chance to escape.

Then, at sunrise, a silver package drifts down from the sky and lands on my lap. It is marked as mine. Maybe it is a ranged weapon to make it easier to kill Foxy.

Glancing up at Five every few moments, I eagerly unwrap the package and find a pot and two spoons. At first, I almost throw them at the tree, enraged by the sheer pointlessness of the gift, until I connect the dots. _Stir the pot_ , Foxy said, and Enobaria appears to agree with her. I trust the latter, so I stand up and face the ginger girl in the tree.

"Hey, Foxy!" I call up and she nearly falls off of her branch. "I'll agree to your alliance."

She warily studies me. I see the fox attributes Enobaria told me about as she gives me that nervous animal look, deciding if it would be safe to approach.

"I guess I'll die either way," she whispers, and I wonder if she knows I heard her. She jumps down from the tree and I extend a hand. Hesitantly, she shakes it. Foxy has a surprisingly strong handshake.

"Let's share a meal and get to know each other," I say, knowing that might be a wise step. I need to figure out more about someone who could prove formidable.

"That sounds surprisingly kind of you," says Foxy. I shrug. "Why did you call me Foxy?"

I snort. "Because you look like a fox. Why else?"

"My name is Sol," she says, feathers ruffled.

"I don't care," I purr, my ruthless tone widening her ice blue eyes. "You're Foxy to me."

"There are worse nicknames," she mumbles, averting her eyes. Maybe she is a pushover, whether or not she killed Twelve and Marvel.

Then again, that is not a bad quality in an ally. Someone I can push around works in my best interest, far more than one of the other career tributes.

She opens her backpack and lays out a meal. I am shocked by it. Turns out she was not lying about robbing us blind while we hunted other tributes. Judging by the smoke still rising, I suppose she must be telling the truth about blowing up the mines too.

I sit down and take slow bites, studying her closely as I eat. She never meets my gaze once.

"Have you ever even gone hungry?" Foxy boldly asks, and I furrow my brow.

"Yes," I snap, amazed by her gall. "When I was little, until I was twelve. My family sold me to the Academy once I was old enough and they fed me fine there, but, before that, I went hungry plenty."

"But Two is rich," says Foxy, clearly stunned. Maybe she was just presumptuous, not saucy.

"Rich _er_ ," I correct, trying to keep calm and keep my alliance. "Poverty exists everywhere; we just send our poor kids to the Academy. Orphans. Other unfortunate cases. If they don't end up going to the Games, they end up as peacekeepers. It isn't a bad deal, in my opinion. They should do it in the other Districts."

"So… you were a slum kid?" inquires Foxy, a newfound glint in her eyes.

"Yes," I snarl, glowering at her. "But now I'm in the Final Five of the Hunger Games. I never will be a slum kid again and no one will dare call me that." _And I'll marry the one I love wearing my victor's crown instead of a wedding veil._

"I'm one too. I don't mean it in a judgmental way," Foxy hastily says, swallowing and poking at her food. "I just thought One and Two had it so much better."

I sigh and decide to give her a rundown of my pathetic former life. "My dad died in a quarry accident. My mom still worked there and made barely enough, but she had to sell me into a better situation. I don't blame her. Right now, at this moment, knowing I have a one in five shot at being a victor like I always dreamed, I couldn't be happier."

"I guess," Foxy says softly, rubbing her arm.

"That's all you're getting out of me," I state sharply, returning to the proper headspace for a victor. "You know where I came from and so you should shut up about how much _harder_ you have it."

After a long silence, "Is that ring from Cato?" Foxy asks.

I stick by my lie. "Yes."

"I guess I can't compete with him," says Foxy, before blushing. "N-not that I mean that romantically. I just mean if it comes down to two potential alliances."

Foxy is a better ally for me than Cato and staying away from him is the wisest move I could make, since I know he is my one weakness. Well, my one weakness in the Arena. If I use Foxy to kill off everyone and then slit her throat in the finale…

I like it. They made us study every single Games at the Academy and this has never happened before. Certain strong tributes from outlying districts have joined the bottom rung of the career pack, or sometimes the useful like the sniveling weakling from Three. But there never has been an alliance like this, and no one from Five ever has joined the careers.

The sponsors and fans will eat it up. _That_ is how to play the game. Not just throwing knives into the necks of everyone who opposes me.

"Maybe, maybe not," I say, shrugging. She remains quiet and placid, but I can see in her eyes that my indecisive answer infuriates her. That satisfies me on a deep level.

"I don't imagine we'll sleep much tonight," whispers Foxy, still keeping her eyes averted.

"No. I don't either," I admit, then I adopt the most arrogant air I can muster. "Trust don't come easy, Foxy. You should figure that out fast."

She says nothing, just wordless unfurls a sleeping bag and lies down on top of it. I try to hide my shivering; no way will I let her invite me in. If she sees it, she does not comment.

But then we hear the growling coming from the woods. She jumps up and I seize her arm. When Foxy lunges for her bag, I tug on her and grab only my knives from the pack. I throw one and it hits a beast in the neck. But I am not taking on the uncountable amount of them; sometimes it is wisest to make a break for it and live to fight another day. I have to force Foxy to run with me from the rapidly approaching mutts, roughly dragging her through the forest.

When I trip, she leaps up far faster than I do, grabs my wrist and pulls me back to my feet.

I owe her nothing, so she best not assume that I do.

The snapping and snarling gets so close I can almost feel teeth sinking into my skin, and so I pick up pace with her skipping, hopping and skittering at my side.

We run, and run, and run.

Right into Thresh.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

 _ **FOXFACE**_

* * *

Thresh takes down two mutts with his bare hands and Clove slashes open the neck of the final one. I stand, slowly stepping backwards into the shadows as Thresh grabs Clove. She jabs her knife at him but he smashes her into the ground.

Clove goes out like a light with a sickening crunch. Thresh speeds forward before I can react and seizes my arm. Under the scrutiny of his stony gaze, I remain frozen and as limp as possible. I hope I look terrified. I _am_ so it should not be hard to pull off.

"Don't do this," I plead in a soft whisper.

"Do what?" he demands, eyebrows shooting up.

"You're hesitating because you don't… you don't know if you want to kill me. You're more honorable than that. She was armed and dangerous. I'm… I'm not. You're better than her. Better than doing this." Pause. "But, if you do, please don't make it hurt."

His jaw juts out. My heart skips a beat. I do not know if he has sympathies to play but I have to hope that the reason he declined the careers repeatedly during training is because he does not want to be a brute.

He gently throws me down and I flinch and cower. When I dare to look up, he is nowhere to be found. I guess Thresh from District Eleven is as honorable a man as he considers himself to be. Quickly, I sit up and roll Clove onto her back. As soon as I do, her eyes flutter open.

"Where's Eleven?" Clove drawls, sitting up and looking at her injuries.

They are bad. He crushed her right down on rocks and I see twisted limbs and profusely bleeding scrapes all over her.

"He shoved me onto the ground and ran off," I quietly explain. Then I look at her arm. Then I hastily look away from her arm and hold back vomit. "That's—"

"A compound fracture. I know. I took inventory of my wounds and they are…" Clove frowns and momentarily looks concerned, but her haughty demeanor quickly returns. "But I have sponsors and my needs will be taken care of."

"Then we should wait until you heal up," I hesitantly suggest, offering a hand to help her to her feet. Predictably, she refuses it.

"We should find cover first." Clove stands up with a groan of pain and starts limping through the woods. I follow her as quickly as my own wounds permit.

The two of us only make it to the stream before she collapses. My mouth is dry and my throat burns but I left my water behind in my pack when we ran from the mutts. Trying to ignore the pain looking at the crystalline stream causes, I sit down by my brand new ally, not too close, but not drifting far away either. She winces and I avert my eyes. While I know I should help her, I am too afraid to take decisive action.

"I can get you leaves," I pipe up and she squints at me, her lip contorted in displeasure. "They'll help with the pain, until your mentor sends you medicine."

"Leaves?" She now seems puzzled.

"Yeah. Herbal medicine. That kind of thing?" I only hope I can identify the same ones Rue used on my injuries from the mines. I never picked many plants, despite picking many pockets.

"Whatever." Clove claws her way to the edge of the bank and pins her back to the rocks.

Rising, then stumbling on my sore legs, I scurry through the forest.

It takes time, but I manage to find the path I took with Rue and Katniss. But then I hear heavy, muscular bodies crushing branches and talking too loudly.

I freeze before I reach the leaves and duck behind a tree. As I peer through the foliage, I unsurprisingly see Glimmer and Cato in the woods.

"She isn't dead," insists Cato, clenching his fists. "We should find her."

"Maybe she went rogue. I think she did," says Glimmer, batting her thick eyelashes. "People do that. She loves you and maybe she's just scared to kill you, so she left to fend for herself."

Cato furrows his brow and glares at his feet. "That sounds like her."

My eyes flash wide. Perhaps Clove _did_ do that; maybe she agreed to my alliance for that exact reason. That might work in my favor.

"Right." Glimmer touches his shoulder.

"But she always liked girls more than boys," Cato comments, grimacing. Glimmer cocks an eyebrow. "I've never really been sure if she liked me back."

"She acts like it," says Glimmer, practically swooning. "She _does_ love you, but only one of you can win. Unless you both died together. That would be so romantic."

Cato sneers at her and she takes a step backwards.

"Don't get overconfident. Let's find Five," he says and I swallow. "We need to get rid of her."

I get up and scamper through the shadows of the trees. When a twig snaps, I almost scream, but hold back. Finally, I make it past the range of Cato and Glimmer and find the leaves Rue used. I pluck as many as I can carry, pick a few more to stick on my own injuries, and seize a few violet flowers on my way.

Time to get back to my ally.

[X]

I sit down upstream of Clove to catch my breath, setting the leaves on my lap and staring at the water. It might kill me. I am so thirsty that I might die anyway. The decision seems impossible.

Then, I see a silver package for the first time. I never expected one; Five _never_ gets sponsors if they make it past the bloodbath. I certainly never received a gift. It is a water bottle and a small pack of purification tablets.

It must be pricey this late it in the Games. The only explanation is that my alliance with Clove has piqued the interest of the Capitol.

Hastily, I fill the water bottle and drop one of the tablets in. Slowly and methodically, as I sit back and wait for it to purify, I twist the flowers in my hair while I calm down and try to sort out of my thoughts. I lock them in place with my District token and sip my water as I walk back to Clove.

Hopefully I have my wits about me again when I lay eyes on her.

"These leaves should help numb the pain," I say, holding them out to the girl still leaning against the damp rocks. "And you can have some of my water."

I give her the water bottle while she scowls at the plants.

Clove chews on her knuckle. "And you know those leaves won't kill me how?"

"Rue put them on me when I was hurt after triggering one of your mines." I hold out my arm to show her that I have them on myself and hope she trusts me.

But she asks, "The little girl from Eleven? You didn't say anything about her."

I faintly gasp, not meaning to let that slip. I am _so stupid_. "She was my ally, but Marvel killed her, so I killed Marvel."

Clove narrows her eyes and demands, "And Twelve?"

"Me and Marvel were both hunting her. That's how Rue got tangled up in a literal net. After me and Rue blew up the supplies, she was hurt so I left her behind to finish tracking Twelve. After I killed Twelve, I ran back to where I left Rue and I found her bleeding out in a net. Marvel was gone but not far gone; she wounded him. I laid Rue to rest and then caught Marvel from the shadows. All three of them were dead by yesterday night. Then I wandered for a while and came across you," I lie. It comes so naturally; I can _see_ the fake story vividly in my mind.

Clove coldly asks, "Did she put the flowers in your hair? The old ones."

I feel tears blossoming in my eyes but choke them back. After a deep breath, I nod. Then I walk forward and apply the leaves to Clove's wounds. She narrows her eyes at my every move, clearly expecting me to poison or betray her. But I maintain my loyalty; I need her until the others die.

She very subtly sighs in relief.

"I told you it would work," I whisper, bowing my head and backing away from her to sit near the rushing water. "I need you alive, remember? Everyone left here is much stronger than me. I mean, after what happened I guess we know Thresh is stronger than you…"

Maybe I should have found him first. He would be a better protector and a far more trustworthy one than Clove.

Clove says as a smirk spreads across her dirty face, "But we are smarter than him. Maybe he could outdo us with his brawns but we can always outdo him with our brains. Same goes for Cato and Glimmer. Cato can't deal with any problem that can't be solved by punching it, and Glimmer is a mindless flirt. Right now, I say we pander to the cameras until we have a decent plan. And, if all goes well, those three are wearing themselves down while we wait to strike."

"I thought you'd want to fight it out," is my only remark.

"I want to win. That doesn't always mean fighting. The rest of my former alliance needed to learn that little fact," says Clove. "I know I need strategy more than I need my knives. Of course, I wouldn't turn down gouging out an eye or two. I guess, if those three finish each other off before we get the chance to play, I can always save that urge for you."

I am relieved she said _former_ alliance. I am not relieved that she plans to gouge out my eyes.

"They'll make us fight everyone else before we have a master plan. The gamemakers are good at their jobs," I say, although I liked her wishful thinking.

"Then let's stay interesting, Five," says Clove. "If we're interesting, they'll let Glimmer and Cato play soldier while we… stay interesting."

She winks at me but I do not know why. Well, I am clueless until she kisses my cheek and wickedly smirks when she sits back against the rocks again.

* * *

 _ **CLOVE**_

* * *

Foxy's face cracks me up. Maybe no one has ever kissed her before.

Then again, maybe I should play this cool if I want my medicine. I am amazed I do not have it already. Cato needs food after Foxy's attack, yes, and Brutus would spend on that, but he would not use up all our district's sponsor funds or Enobaria would _literally_ castrate him.

Unless the gamemakers are withholding certain gifts or putting them into a price range that even Two cannot afford. That has historically occurred. They want to force more drastic actions so they remove the options of the mentors.

 _Or_ , Enobaria is still angry about the Cato-engagement thing. And the kissing Foxy thing too. No, she is many, many things but she is not petty. She wants me to come home even more than I want to come home.

As if answering my silent question, Foxy snatches a silver package with a _2_ on it right from the air. She hands it to me and I open bandages and antiseptic. I clean the wounds by myself, but covering them proves difficult so I look up at Foxy.

"Help me with the fracture," I order and Foxy rushes over to me, assisting with wrapping it up and covering the bone.

I lie down and stare up at the sky. The temperature begins to drastically drop again. I suppose I ended up in the Games where the gamemakers love having fun. It was sweltering today and now I am so cold that my teeth chatter.

Foxy still sits by the water. Then she grabs a package, and says, "It's from Cordelia," sounding in awe. "It's food. She gave me water earlier and now…"

"There are worse gifts," I say, sitting up. There is, after all, no way Five could afford medicine. "Did you not get any sponsor gifts before today?"

Foxy shakes her head. "I didn't expect I would ever have one."

"Good point. Five never does well. The last victor was your mentor, right?"

"You know that?"'

"I've seen every Games. Seen a lot of them more than once."

"Did you see the 68th?"

I narrow my eyes. The familiar paranoia of having an illicit relationship hits me.

"Yeah. Why?" I ask coldly, trying to keep cautious.

"My cousin was in them. Your mentor killed her."

"That's a shame," I sarcastically say. It makes her pallid face flush but she looks away instead of challenging me. "And you're more of a doormat than an actual doormat. I just insulted your dead family. Hit me or something."

"I'm not confrontational," Foxy whispers. I can only laugh at that statement.

"I never would've guessed." I smirk.

We remain silent for some time after that.

Foxy braids flowers and leaves together into a small circle. I watch her, fascinated by those nimble fingers. I am fast and flexible, but never had the patience for detailed arts and crafts like that. She finishes the miniature crown and holds it out to me.

Foxy very quietly asks, "Care for a bracelet?"

I roll my eyes. "What do _you_ think?"

Foxy slides it onto her own wrist. She drips with flowers like Satin Athens drips with gemstones. I smirk.

"What?" Foxy nervously asks.

"You probably already started a Capitol fashion trend. It's good; people will have something to remember you by after I kill you and win."

"Well, so long as there's an article about me in _Capitol Couture_ , I guess I'm fine with you gouging my eyes out."

"I didn't know you could make jokes," I remark, shaking my head.

"I'm full of surprises," says Foxy. "So is this place."

"You do seem rattled," I remark, smirking. It feels good to see someone else unravel since I certainly did starting my first night here. I seem like a pro compared to her.

"Shouldn't I be?" she softly asks.

"Have you never seen people die before or something?" I mockingly ask.

"I saw people die before the Games," protests Foxy.

"Who?"

"My mom. She was executed," she says, which surprises me. "And you?"

"I _killed_ people before the Games. Why do you think I volunteered?"

"Who did you kill?"

"Just some girl I knew. She threw the first punch, so it _really_ isn't my fault."

"Do you care if it's your fault or not?"

I scoff. She blushes harder. It _is_ getting kind of cute; I am not used to being around the meek. "No. I just want to make it clear that she brought it on herself."

"Do you want some of this soup?" offers Foxy, uncapping the thermos.

"Is there poison in it?" I ask. "I think I'd rather be hungry than get killed by you."

" _I_ didn't poison it… but Cordelia fights dirty."

"She wouldn't risk poisoning you."

"Then have some," says Foxy.

I frown. "No thanks."

She could kill me. I will not let someone from _Five_ kill me.

[X]

All night, I lie awake in agonizing pain. Foxy stays quiet; I do not know if she sleeps or not. The monotony breaks up when Enobaria sends me three triangle shaped gifts. A fishing kit, another set of bandages, and a folded blanket. I glower in the direction of a tiny flashing red light in hopes that she sees it. The dinnerware was confusing enough until I figured it out.

"When I went to get the leaves, I spied a bit on your former allies. Cato is looking for you," says Foxy, startling me. I thought she was knocked out. "He said you liked girls to Glimmer."

I see it in her eyes; she figured out the gift before I did. Hiding that, I nod at her.

Love triangle. Enobaria wants a love triangle.

I never knew her to be so selfless.

The Capitol must desperately want that drama.

* * *

 _ **FOXFACE**_

* * *

I like the angle Clove's mentor proposes. Clove might not need one; she has training and the guts to ruthless and unrepentantly kill. However, I need to stay interesting to stay alive. The viewers are my only real hope, now that I have lost the nightlock that was in my pack.

"How did you and Cato meet?" I inquire, hoping to prod a conversation about romance. The Capitol will eat it up.

Clove smirks, but it is not mocking me—it is a wistful half-smile.

"I punched him when he tried to kiss me within about ten minutes of knowing me. Then he challenged me to a fight and I cut his face. But after he healed up a bit, I let him nick my ear in a spar and we became best friends." She looks happy when she talks about him. I never thought I would see Clove with an expression other than a scowl.

The Capitol got their star-crossed lovers, just not the ones they expected.

"Do you wanna go downstream?" I offer.

"Why?" Clove asks.

"To find better cover than this."

Clove nods. "Yeah. Let's go."

She pushes herself up and starts walking. The leaves work on me; they must be working on her too. We walk—stumble—as quickly as we can. As we follow the stream, we find better cover than I imagined: a cave.

Clove immediately starts camouflaging the entrance as I creep inside and sit down in the shade. She finishes setting up and slips inside after me, sitting against the opposite wall.

I feel led here. While it may have been my idea to walk downstream, this place feels too perfect. Maybe the gamemakers who enjoy messing with the temperature and sending mutts to drive tributes together also wanted to force me and Clove into a small space to spark conflict between us.

That is the only explanation that makes sense to me.

[X]

After fitfully sleeping on the cold cave floor, I shake Clove in the morning as it warms up.

"Do you want to go fishing?" I whisper, pointing at the triangular kit beside her sleeping form. "I'm pretty hungry."

Clove looks up at me, opening her eyes, lashes fluttering. She squints in the bright light that pours through the camouflaged door she made over our den.

"Whatever," says Clove, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "I could eat."

We leave the cave, Clove adjusting the entrance to perfection before we head to the crystalline stream below. I open the kit and stare at it, perplexed. Fishing is very illegal where I live, if you can even find unpolluted or unrestricted water.

Clove grabs the kit and pulls out the string and hook. "Dig up bait."

"Bait?" I ask and she rolls her eyes.

"Worms or whatever the closest thing in this Arena is to it," says Clove.

"Do you fish a lot in Two?" I ask as I start digging in the mud.

"No, but _I_ actually paid attention at the survival stations. And Cato said it was a waste of time. Idiot," she mutters.

I wonder if she cares that I hear her. Probably not. Clove strikes me as rather selfish. Once I strike worm territory, I hand them over and Clove spears one on the hook with ease. She casts the line in the water and kicks the unfolded net at me.

"Clove?"

"Do something with this," she orders. "I didn't pay… fantastic attention."

I set up the net in the water and try to make something of a trap. The lessons are fuzzy now that all I can see is blood and I feel in a perpetual fog.

Clove and I sit in silence, waiting for fish to come along. She catches one; my net has little success. When she sets it on the rocks, I have to look away as it suffocates and dies.

"You're weak for a killer," says Clove.

"I'm just tired," I lie. Not my best work.

"Aren't we all?" remarks Clove. "It's almost over anyway. Soon, people will get bored and they'll force a finale. There are only five of us left."

I fear people getting bored. Out of those left, I am certain I would be the first dead. Slowly, I sit up and walk to Clove.

"Will you show me how to catch a fish?" I ask and her eyes flicker up and down my body.

"Fine," she says, an answer I barely dared to hope for.

"Thank you."

[X]

After catching four fish and sharing very little conversation, Clove takes the net from the water and places her kills in it. She slings it over her shoulder and climbs up into the forest. I follow her, like I always do.

"Interested in finding sugar berries?" I ask and Clove cocks an eyebrow. "They're so sweet."

"I figured that out from the name," says Clove. "Unless it was an ironic name."

We walk through the woods as I analyze each plant.

"Do you have any pets?" I ask.

"No," says Clove. "You?"

"I have a cat," I say of the black cat I found in a basket one day and dragged home. My mom was not happy, but I was a convincing child. She caved in and Spooks has been a part of the family since, even when mom stopped being one. Then I think about the fact I probably will never see her again and say, "Fission better be taking care of her."

Clove stops walking and stares at me. "Who's Fission?"

"My little brother," I say, stopping and turning to face her.

"You never mentioned one," she says.

"I guess not. I've been trying not to think about him." Pause. "Do you like animals?"

"Maybe," Clove says. "I never put a lot of thought into it. There aren't many where I live."

"Two is just a barren wasteland?"

"I go to boarding school inside of a mountain. We have spiders sometimes."

" _Inside_ of a mountain?" I ask, uncertain if that is even a _thing_. She probably wants to mess with me.

"We're living inside of a cave. Not a huge difference," Clove says with a shrug and that subtle roll of her eyes. She has impressive confidence, I will give her that.

"I guess." I do not see it that way, but I do not argue either.

"You're a people-pleaser, huh?" says Clove, returning to our march.

I whisper as I start walking again. "More of a people-avoider."

"Both of those have the same lack of backbone. If you have a problem, say something."

"I don't have a problem, though. I really don't. I've never been inside of a mountain, so I wouldn't know." Pause. "I _do_ hate spiders."

"Why?" Clove asks, laughing at me.

I shudder when I explain, "They have a lot of legs… and a lot of eyes… and they make me squirm."

"I'll protect you from the spiders, Foxy." Clove smugly smirks. "It's really a miracle you've lived as long as you have. Scared of spiders, can't catch food, can't stand up for herself, can't fight…"

I cannot help but laugh. Her smirk grows.

"Found them," I say, starting to pick them from the bushes. Clove holds her hand out then suddenly rescinds it. "What?"

"Are they poisonous?"

"Try to trust me. I can't survive without you protecting me from Cato and Glimmer and Thresh and spiders," I say, opening my palm.

She frowns and stares at the berries before she takes a deep breath and grabs them from my hand. When she puts them in her mouth, she makes a strange face.

"These are definitely not named ironically," she comments. "And are my first dessert in years."

"Even _I_ have treats more often than that. That's so sad," I say. "They don't even let you have the food in the Capitol?"

"Especially not the food in the Capitol," says Clove. "Not until I win. _Then_ , I am going to try every single food they have to offer."

"Good incentive," I remark before popping a few of the berries in my own mouth. "This really is a beautiful Arena. The flora is… it's almost a paradise."

"We are evil men in the Garden of Paradise, sent by the forces of death to spread destruction wherever we go," Clove recites.

"I've never heard that before," I quietly say. I also had no idea careers referred to _themselves_ as evil; I thought that judgment was reserved for the outlying districts.

"It's a good quote." Clove shrugs.

"If I win, I'm going to grow a garden."

"Such high aspirations," mocks Clove. She smirks at me. "We should go cook these fish."

I nod and we start our walk back to the cave.

[X]

Clove and I return to our den, where she begins to light a fire. I reach out and try to grab her hand, but she has much faster reflexes.

"Cato and Glimmer will be hunting at night, and Thresh seems pretty skittish and won't investigate _if_ he sees a thing," says Clove. "And I picked wood that barely makes any smoke at all."

Taking her word for it, I sit with my teeth digging into my knee while she cooks the fish and gazes into the flames. The acrid smoke stings my eyes and I try not to think about what would happen if Cato and Glimmer saw it.

"Stop worrying," says Clove as if she can read my mind. "Even if they _do_ look for us in the day, they won't see through the vine veil, and I'll put it out as soon as I'm done cooking the food."

I nod. Then I freeze.

"What if you _want_ them to see?" I whisper, eyes wide.

"You're paranoid," says Clove. "I'm not with them anymore. You and me are allies."

"But you're more than that with him," I say.

Clove frowns. "Not really," she replies. "We'd have a better chance together than me and him. He loves me and I guess I love him… but only as a friend. Maybe a brother."

"Oh," I remark. "You're being open about your feelings today."

Clove's lips twitch. "What feelings?"

"The ones I know you secretly have," I reply with a smirk.

"You're kinda cute, Foxy," says Clove. "It's getting a little endearing. A _little_. Mostly annoying, but a _little bit_ endearing."

I pick at my lip. They are more sore and chapped than they ever have been in my life. Hers look even worse for wear but they did not make for a bad first kiss. A sandpapery, awkward first kiss that I will never forget. I _do_ have a one and five chance of survival. If I stick with Clove, a one in two. Fifty/fifty. I could _really_ make it out of here.

"I'd miss you if I won," I say.

Clove looks up at me and I expect her to point out that she has the highest likelihood of survival in the Arena. But as soon as she opens her mouth, she closes it and removes the burning fish from the fire. She stifles the flames and hands me half of the crispy strips of meat.

"You're not a bad ally for someone so soft," says Clove coldly.

"And you could be a worse friend," I say.

Clove cocks an eyebrow. "Just a friend?"

"Well, we've only known each other for three days."

"People have gotten married in shorter time periods than that."

"Are you suggesting we marry?" I teasingly inquire, batting my eyelashes. I want to make her blush, but Clove just laughs with that swift roll of her eyes and slight shrug of her shoulders.

I am beginning to love that strange signature mannerism of hers.

[X]

In the morning, Clove still sleeps slumped against the side of the cave. I check to make sure she still breathes—although I did not hear a cannon—and I venture out of our cave to try to find food.

As I sneak through the forest, I grab some sugar berries and think about the nightlock I lost. It might be my only way to take out Clove once everyone else is dead or worn down. I have to find more. That preoccupies me until the sun goes past its apex. Once I find the purple berries again and start shoving them in my jacket pockets, I do not hear Glimmer walking up behind me until I have a sword against my spine. The fact that she does not immediately kills me does not bode well; she wants me to suffer first, I assume.

"Turn around," orders the blonde and I freeze.

Slowly, I obey her order, ready to be gutted or sliced up into pieces or worse. Then, Glimmer screams and goes flying. My eyes widen as I watch Thresh smash her into a tree. I skitter backwards as he does, almost falling into the nightlock bushes.

Once Glimmer is unconscious, Thresh turns to me with a frown. "You have a way of getting in bad situations, Five."

"You have a way of saving me," I reply, nervously smoothing my coat. The berries are intact inside my pockets, which _would_ matter if this hulking man were not about to snap my neck.

"Not saving you," he says, jaw jutting out. "Sparing you, because you won't fight me."

"You're trying to not kill anybody," I whisper, trying to lock eyes with him but backing out at the last second. "She's not dead."

"I can win without killing," asserts Thresh in a deep tone no one would argue with.

But I softly say, "Nobody has before, not even the tributes who hid until it was almost over."

"There's a first time for everything." He looks at my wrist and I try to hide it. "My sister makes dumb bracelets like that. All her friends too."

"Do you want it?" I ask too quietly for him to hear.

"What?" confirms my suspicion.

I dare to speak louder. "Do you want it?"

He does not answer, but slowly, cautiously extends an open palm. I remove it from my wrist and set it in his hand. He suddenly grabs my wrist and I scream, regretting the gesture, but then I feel hot blood on me, pouring down my pallid arm, and he slides down onto his knees.

I watch him drown in his own blood, too stunned to do anything or look up at who I know will be Glimmer or Cato. Finally, the cannon fires and I dare to look up at the blonde girl or blonde boy.

But I am wrong.

My ally stands behind Thresh's body and I see the knife that punctured his lung.

"Clove," I say, stunned.

She sarcastically says, "You were taking a long time. I got concerned."

Or at least I think it is sarcasm.

"You're still hurt," I quietly say, but then I see something more important. "Glimmer was there."

"Where?" Clove asks.

"She was… he knocked her out under that tree. She's gone."

Clove pivots on her heel, looking every which way for the girl from One. She eagerly searches with a knife in each hand, then gives up and turns to me.

"Let's get back to the cave. She probably went crying to Cato, and I'm still too injured to face them both and win." She is lying. She just does not want to fight her district partner, but I do not voice that suspicion as she starts limping the trek back to our den.

I cannot help but look once more at Thresh before scampering after her.

He deserved a funeral too.

They all did.

* * *

 _ **CLOVE**_

* * *

I slump down in the cave and catch my breath in the silence that follows. Foxy does not even start washing the blood off of herself. She just sits there, wide-eyed, like a fox cornered by a hound. I have no desire to push her, so I keep to myself.

"One-thousand-six-hundred-ninety-nine," says Foxy and I decide she must have lost her mind. Some do in the Games. "That's how many kids have died in the Hunger Games. One-thousand-six-hundred-ninety-nine. And soon it will be one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-two."

I never was one for math, but I have always been one for combat. And so, I confidently can say, "And seventy-three people were better than all of those. Soon, seventy-four, and that seventy-fourth will be me."

"Thresh was trying to not kill anybody."

"So it was good he died," I say. "He'd never win."

"Has anybody? You've seen every Games," Foxy softly asks.

"Nope. There were three or four from outlying districts who came really close, but they all had at least one kill chalked up to them." Pause. "But the most kills _does_ belong to a victor from an outlying district."

Thunder crashes, punctuating my words. The sky opens up and the torrential rain begins. It is the first storm—the first _rain_ —this year. I am stunned by it, but Foxy demands my attention.

"Who?" she whispers, barely audible over the downpour.

"I should know her." I screw up my face in concentration. Who was it? Oh, it hits me. "District Eight. Cecelia Brandt."

Foxy picks at her lip. "She seems so sweet on TV. Doesn't she have three kids?"

I roll my eyes and shrug. "You can have three kids and kill eighteen people. Those aren't mutually exclusive."

After brief silence, Foxy inquires, "Do you want kids?"

"No," I reply, shaking my head. "But I never really thought about it."

"Not once?" she asks, looking puzzled.

 _Yes_ , I think, _more than once._

"I don't like them," I say, half-honestly. "And I won't be responsible for a child who will either be a disappointment or another victor. Too much of a hassle."

"I don't think I want any either," Foxy says. "I don't want them added to that number."

She is reaching the brink of bad, bad things to say on national television. So, I crawl across the cave to her and give her my best, dark, brooding, sexy eyes. It works; she stares at me.

"He would've killed me or you if it really came down to it. He could've bashed Glimmer's skull in, even if she miraculously lived this time. That could be your brains splattered on a tree. I don't want that to happen," I purr and she looks _entranced_. She always looks so timeless and superior, but right now she looks like an awkward little girl.

"Yeah," she whispers. It seems to be all she can muster.

"One of us is going to be added to that number, but so help me, one of us won't," I whisper. "One of us is going to win. I can't let anybody or anything stand in our way."

"Even Cato?" she asks, and I wonder if she is playing the love triangle angle like she ought to be or if she truly means it. She confuses me. _Romance_ confuses me. It always has.

So I opt to say, "Shut up, Foxy." I kiss her full on the mouth this time. When it breaks, she gasps and I sit back on my haunches. She hesitantly leans in to kiss me and her lips make contact with my nose. I cackle; she blushes. We both retreat to our opposing sides of the cave.

"I'm gonna gather water," she nervously says, still looking humiliated.

I scratch at the bandages on my wounds as she grabs the shared water bottle and walks out of the cave. Tired, I watch her fill the water with rain. Hobbling to kill Thresh was more exhausting than I thought it would be, and now I begin to worry.

My strength leeches away with every second. I might not win.

But I _have_ to win. I was _born_ to win. It is my _destiny_ to win.

I watch her scrub at her arms and clothes, trying to rid her skin of Thresh's blood.

At last, Foxy returns with the water bottle and offers me the first sip. I shake my head and she drinks first. After that, I snatch the damp bottle from her hands and drink the rest.

"You're soaking," I say, seeing how dark her light red hair becomes when it drips with rainwater. She does not look half bad.

"I was dirty," she says, deliberately looking away from me.

"Not much of a bath," I remark, studying her closely.

"It washed the blood away," says Foxy, averting her eyes again. "That's what matters."

Thresh's death messed her up. I have no idea why. She managed everyone else well. Maybe the time spent in the Arena wears on her like it wears on me. She just started out much weaker than I am; this place steals more of her sanity.

"Yeah. Goodnight, Foxy," I say, lying down.

My ally looks like a sopping mess and she shakes. I probably should comfort her, but I would not know where to begin; I have never considered consoling a person before in my life.

The last thing I see before I fall asleep is Foxy curled in a ball, crying.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

As my tears at last run dry and I sit in the cold, dark, dank cave, I ignore the Capitol Anthem and the face in the sky. I wring my hands and take deep breaths to soothe my sobs.

In my newfound calm, I think about the coffin they sent my cousin home inside. It was plain. A plain wooden coffin with the number _5_ carved on the nailed-shut lid. Fission knew her far less than I did, but he mourned more than I could muster.

I have been trying not to think about what will happen when I go home in one of them, what Fission's face will be like, who on Earth would come to the funeral. Maybe Cordelia would, and Fission, and a handful of my mother's friends who tried in vain to help feed us in those worst months.

Have I resigned myself to my death? I think I have. The truth is, even after watching Clove kill an innocent boy, I would be content if she beat me and won. I want to go home more than anything and I would rather her return in a coffin than myself, but I also want her to win.

I shake her awake as I try to sort through those thoughts.

"What's the first thing you'll do when you win? What do you do when you go home? What's your talent? What's your life going to be like? Tell me about it. Please," I beg, trying to figure out a way to console myself. I _know_ she will be the victor, and I want to die knowing that my life was worth trading for hers. Maybe it is.

Some causes are worth dying for. Some _people_ are worth dying for. I am no longer afraid of that fact.

Clove stares at me for a long few moments, rubbing her nose. It smears dirt and blood all over her skin. She nods and inhales deeply.

"The first thing when I win, I'm gonna thank my mentor for saving my skin in here one way or another, and with the ample grace of a victor," says Clove, which makes little sense to me, but I accept. "Then, when I go home, I'm gonna go swimming at the old Quarry, and after that I'm gonna build a pagoda by hand in my backyard in the Victor's Village. I've been eyeing the perfect place when I'm not training. I like building things more than I'd like sitting in a pagoda, but no one'll ever question me after I'm a victor. Maybe I'll track down my family once its allowed and see how they all turned out. My only talent is killing people, so I guess I'll have to get creative before my Tour."

I prod, "If you had to choose one now?"

"Enobaria told me that her escort sent her books on flower arranging when she resisted learning a talent other than murder. Maybe I'll dig them up." Clove laughs, and, although I know she mocks me, I join in and learn that it only hurts when I laugh.

"And you'll spend your life like that?" It sounds dreamy, in a way. All _I_ can think is that if I win I will never have to steal to feed my brother again. She made detailed plans that I admire.

"Yeah. I'll become a teacher like all the good victors do, and I'll…" Clove frowns and her eyes glaze over. "I guess that's it."

I close my eyes and try to visualize it all. It makes me feel far less afraid. When we face off, I will either win by some miracle, or she will kill me and I will know right before I die that I'm dying so she can live that life, and swim in that Quarry, and build a pagoda and find her family again.

"So," I ask as Clove after a long silence, "you love your fiancé like your brother."

"I'm confused, I guess," Clove admits. "I wanted to be with him but I also wondered if I just thought that was what I was supposed to do. He loved me so I thought it was right to love him back. Our relationship definitely progressed enough to want to marry, but I never knew if I really wanted it."

I do not know what to say to that other than, "You never seem indecisive."

"We all have our weaknesses," Clove states. "Let's go see if we can find some food."

"Good idea," I softly say, rising.

We emerge from our cave and dare to enter the cold Arena.

[X]

I stride beside Clove as we creep through the darkness. The animals will be sleeping, save for the night creatures I hear, but I do not mention that to her.

"I've always liked to win," says Clove, picking at her dry lips. I see that they pain her, even if she tries to conceal all weakness. Her eyes never fail to belie her.

"Most people do," I reply. "Why do you bring that up?"

"Because this is the hardest time winning I've ever had. It's the only time I've ever wondered if I will or not. And that's a nightmare because losers pay the ultimate price in this competition."

"I'm not ready to die either," I admit. "I know I can't beat you in the end or anybody else, but I still want to go home. I still want to fight."

"You better keep fighting," Clove says fiercely. "I'm not letting anybody kill you but me."

"That's…" I feel my cheeks heat up. "That's kind of romantic."

"Yeah." Clove laughs and rolls her eyes with that familiar slight shrug. "I'm your Princess Charming."

We walk in silence for a while before I remark, "Glimmer can't kill Cato. She's not strong enough. I see it in her."

"Yeah," Clove says, her voice soft for the first time. She has sounded hushed when we are sneaking around, but never weak. "Our mentors don't think we can kill each other either." Clove turns to me. "So you have to do it. You have to kill him for me."

I whisper, petrified by the very thought, "He's a lot stronger than me. I'd never beat him in a fight."

"You'll find a way," insists Clove. "Just worry about it when it comes."

I shake my head. "I'm not good at living in the moment. I like to be several steps ahead."

"That's hard to do in the Arena."

"Hence, why I hate this place. Or at least one of the reasons I hate this place."

Clove shoots me that cocky smirk. "Oh, but I make it a bit better, now don't I?"

I look away and smile faintly to myself.

[X]

In the moonlight, I serenely watch a deer sip from a light blue pond. It captures my attention and I cannot look away while Clove examines the woods for a rabbit or squirrel. Then it turns and shows its rows and rows of fangs. I hold back a scream and stumble away from the mutt. Two others join it and I stand frozen in place with my back against a tree.

The mutts run forward, teeth bared. I begin to scream as they ram forward. One collides with my chest and snaps at my shoulder. I gasp and gasp, panicked.

Then, one of them falls back. Then the other and the other. Two collapse and Clove snaps their necks. The other limps away, whimpering.

"Are you okay?" Clove asks, lunging forward and examining my bitten shoulder.

"I'm fine," I choke out, my heart still in tachycardia.

Clove shakes her head. "You're falling apart. You need to keep your head on your shoulders."

She reaches into the pocket of her filthy and bloody jacket and pulls out the antiseptic bottle. She dabs it on my shoulder and then puts on the leftover bandages.

We stand there, breathing heavily.

I kiss her. Hard. Fiercely. With everything in me and she pulls me close and holds me there, one palm pressed against the back of my neck and the other against the small of my back.

The rush of fire feels like nothing else I have ever experienced.

When the kiss breaks, it leaves me breathless and vibrant.

"Thank you for saving me," I whisper.

"You wanna thank me?" says Clove. "Next time, try ducking. Or better, fight back."

I faintly smile.

[X]

I walk beside Clove through the forest, attentive to my surroundings but consistently stealing glances at her. She pretends not to notice but I catch her eyes every so often. Suddenly, I hear heavy feet snapping twigs. It could be Cato, but then I hear the feminine sobbing.

"Glimmer," I whisper, narrowing my eyes.

"Where?" softly demands Clove.

"To our left," I reply, gently squeezing her arm, as if it will stop her from running into a fight.

Clove easily breaks free of me, turns and hightails it in that direction. I scamper after her, but stop once I see Clove face to face with Glimmer. My ally wields two knives while her enemy clutches a sword until her knuckles turn white in one hand, but the other remains clamped over her lower abdomen, holding her insides in.

"How'd you get stabbed?" Clove asks, looking at the blood trickling beneath Glimmer's hand. "Did Cato get tired of your whining?"

" _Cato_ wants _you_ to win, and I told him so," snarls Glimmer. "We fought. I got a decent slash in and this isn't as bad as it looks. It's a surface wound at worst."

I doubt that, judging by the barely-concealed spurting, but a career would never lose face. Clove twirls one of her knives around her knuckles, smirking.

"I didn't know you could stand up for yourself, blondie. At least Panem will know that before you die," Clove says. I see Glimmer twitching to lunge at her before she notices, and I want to scream out, but it sticks in my throat.

She tackles my ally to the ground. Clove gasps and begins to struggle, but Glimmer starts off by knocking the knives out of her grasp.

Glimmer has always been more than her beauty. I saw that in her on more than one occasion. Yet, she uses it more than any other skill in her repertoire. To tell the truth, I think her striking appearance strikes me in a new way now that I cannot stop thinking about Clove the way I do. My rejection of boys for my entire life suddenly makes sense.

Then I remember to be afraid. I back into the shadows while Glimmer remains focused solely on Clove. At first, I am assured that my ally will beat her, but then Glimmer knocks Clove's knives away and pins her to the ground, leaving Clove's only weapons out of her reach.

I wait for the tides of the fight to turn; Clove will not fall so easily.

But Clove chokes and claws at Glimmer's face to no avail. She cannot break free and barely can breathe. That terrifies me.

I must act fast; I grab one of Clove's knives and see she is in no condition for me to hand them to her. Keeping Glimmer from choking her to death or reaching her sword absorbs all of my ally's attention. So, I take one look at the knife and do what must be done.

Biting down on my lip, I plunge the blade of the knife into Glimmer's neck. She screams, gurgles, and falls back. The cannon fires, but I do not stop. I keep stabbing her and stabbing her and stabbing her until I am stained red with her blood, the thick, hot liquid dripping from my body.

A rough but feminine hand rests on my shoulder, at last stopping me. I kneel down lower and get my first decent look at Glimmer's lifeless body. Slowly, I touch the blood on her lips. She lies in a pool of it, her eyes wide open and face smeared and splattered with red.

Clove picks up her knives, and looks at me like I am insane, and maybe I am. I was going to outwit people; I was not going to stab them to death. I am a murderer.

"It was so easy," I whisper, because I cannot stop myself.

"Yeah. I guess that usually surprises people," remarks Clove, grabbing Glimmer's sword and pressing it into my hands. I drop it onto my lap but do not let it out of my sight.

"It's supposed to be hard. _Clove_ , it's supposed to be hard to kill. Why is it so easy for me?" I begin to cry, my body wracked with sobs.

Clove leans down, covers my mouth with one hand, and pulls me to my feet.

"I need you to be quiet. I have no clue what's in this Arena now and the finale is probably moments away now that you killed Glimmer. You're good at stealth, so buck up."

I cry and lean back against her. She turns me around, still keeping her palm clamped over my trembling lips.

She says, "Remember that girl I killed at school I told you about? After I beat up Cato, I got promoted into the tribute class. My mentor was Enobaria. Was? Is? I don't care about the tense. She was mentoring the Games when I killed the girl in the locker room. She was so mean to me, and in my class. She hated me because I was better than her. She threw the first swing. I wasn't aiming to kill, but I did it anyway. I ripped her throat out when she had me pinned to the floor. It was easy. It was an accident; that's how it simple it was. When Enobaria came back from the Capitol, she heard about it, of course. I told her it kept me up at night. She said it was just me becoming a woman."

"Becoming a _woman_?" I demand. "Most people become women without murder."

"What's the difference between a girl and a woman, Sol?"

I am stunned by her use of my real name. It leaves me dumbstruck for a moment before I can summon an answer.

"Blood," I whisper.

"Right. You've killed three people now. That's much less than me, much less than a lot of people. Less than Cordelia. Less than Enobaria. Do you feel any different?"

I stare at my feet. "Yes."

"It's not a bad thing. Your childhood has officially ended, from the moment you murdered Twelve. Being a woman suits you. Now let's face the finale, beat Cato and whatever else might come and then duke it out for the crown. I'll be proud to defeat someone who not only killed, but played the Games like no one else in history. You're different. It will be an honor to defeat you."

She kisses my cheek. I open my mouth to speak, but a howl interrupts us.

I shiver as the temperature lowers by what feels like a thousand degrees. It is not just me; Clove shakes as well. The sun at last sets on the horizon, plunging us into eerie darkness lit only by the artificial moon and stars above.

"It's starting, isn't it?" I whisper.

Clove nods.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

I am beginning to come to the conclusion that I do not know if I can kill Foxy or not. That revelation revolts and terrifies me. Hopefully Glimmer or Cato will take care of that for me. Maybe I would want to face her at the end like I promised, but I think I might hesitate, or worse.

Despite how briefly I have known her, the connection is undeniable. The spark is difficult to ignore. We are the star-crossed lovers of the 74th Annual Hunger Games and I cannot deny that any longer. Not for another moment.

But I will never admit it. I cannot afford to show weakness.

If choosing between infatuation and attaining my dearest dream, I choose being a victor. I twist my ring around my finger as a reminder; I have _real_ love waiting for me at home. This is just a game, just part of a game. An _angle_. I will marry Enobaria when I go home a victor. It will be a beautiful ceremony and I will forget about Foxy.

The sun begins to set and the temperature begins to go down like a trickling leak.

"Foxy, let's move. I have a bad feeling about tonight," I say, shaking her arm to snap her back into reality after Glimmer croaked.

"Where do we even go?" Foxy whispers.

A preternatural howl interrupts our conversation and makes me break out in goosebumps. Foxy trembles until I grab her and start pulling her through the woods.

The mutts catch up to us before we can escape. I spin around and throw a knife into one neck, then throw my second knife into the other. Slowly, I walk towards the corpses. Foxy tugs on me.

"I hear more! I hear more!" she shrieks, eyes wide in terror and glistening in the artificial moonlight.

After putting a moments thought into Foxy's vivid gaze, I look down and see that one wolf is black with dead grey eyes, and the other dark with lifeless tawny ones. Foxy covers her mouth with her hand and begins to openly sob.

"It's…" she ekes out.

"Twelve and Eleven. I know," I hiss, and I start dragging Foxy along with me again. We run towards the lake, pursued by more of the mutts that burst from either side of the foliage.

I recognize one as Marvel and the other as Shony. They clearly were deliberate in the choice of beasts they sent after me and Foxy, but I try not to contemplate the sadism of the act as I kill both of them and realize I only have one knife left. Damn. I have to conserve it, so I quicken my pace and at last me and Foxy break into the clearing with the Cornucopia ahead.

It takes mere moments for Cato to appear on the other side, pursued by countless other monsters. He takes down two in one slash of his sword. I know I have to fight the rest by his side and so I turn to Foxy.

She nods at me when I nod towards the Cornucopia. Two mutts start gaining on us and Foxy's eyes widen in horror at the sight. I shove her.

"Catch!" screams Foxy, throwing Glimmer's sword my way. I catch it by the hilt and drive it into the chest of one of the mutts.

I press my last knife into her hand and push her towards the Cornucopia again. "Climb and stay until the end of the fight!"

She does not need to be told twice; she bolts across the clearing at the speed of light and scurries up the side of the Cornucopia like a squirrel.

I kill the two mutts behind me and run to meet Cato. We smirk at each other as we stand back to back and begin to battle together. We hack and slash and kill like we have been taught to do for our entire lives.

By the end, the moon reaches its apex and Cato and I turn to face each other. We step back, creating as much distance in between ourselves as we can.

"Should I take out Five or will you?" he demands with a crooked smile. "I've been waiting to make her pay. She's so _overconfident_ for a little coward. I think a little violent wake-up call is exactly what she needs."

"She's with me," I snarl, startled at my own vehemence. Maybe seeing the violent hunger in his eyes that once excited me now enrages me. At least when he directs his bloodlust at Foxy. "And if you touch a single hair on her head I will…"

He furrows his brow and I stop in midsentence. I do not know what I would do to Cato, but I cannot let him catch Foxy.

"You have a lot of suitors, don't you?" he growls through his teeth. Even in the darkness, I see the glint of jealousy in his eyes. I know the look; he has it whenever I am within ten feet of Enobaria.

"I guess I like to play with hearts," I coldly say.

"That's a lie. You wouldn't know how," says Cato. "You never noticed how many people were in love with you. Five doesn't stand a chance, either by my sword or by your fickle little confused _heart_."

He spits the last word and I clench the sword tighter in my hand.

"Neither do you," I say. "You're in here - living your dream of gruesomely killing children - thinking you'd be willing to die and let me win. What a _failure_. Brutus was right about you."

"Maybe he was. I think you'd win even if I didn't give a damn about you. Me and her both are gonna die in here by your pretty little hand, which I guess should make things easy for you," he growls and I must look strange to him because he blinks several times. "You… you didn't think about that, did you? Are you too weak to kill her off? Are you too weak to kill _me_ off?"

He laughs. My cheeks heat up.

"I am stronger than anyone ever will know," I state, baring my teeth. They glint in the moonlight, but Cato still looks broken, bleeding, brutal and unafraid. "And so is she. They taught us about honor at the Academy and they taught us the only way to properly win is to beat the best. She played the Games better than anyone else this year, so I want to go up against her in the end."

He nods. I did not expect that; I thought he would attack me in response to the insult.

I walk to my best friend with Glimmer's sword still in hand, speckled with the blood of the mutts. He raises his own at me but, as I approach, slowly lowers it.

"Clove," he weakly says. I have never known him to speak this way and it makes me freeze in place. He begins to raise his sword to prompt a duel but something stops him in mid-motion. I do not know why; he practiced for years and years. "Clove, I'm not figh… I… I think Brutus and Enobaria have their answer."

I meet eyes with him. He drops his sword and I drop my jaw. Quickly, I close my mouth, but I know the whole of Panem saw my shock. Cato means his mentor was correct. Maybe mine was too. But then I glance up at Foxy and bite my lower lip. I want us to be at the end together, and I do not believe she will make that happen.

"I think they do too," I say, and I lunge forward with my eyes squeezed shut. I feel the suddenly sickening sensation of my sword driving into his gut and crushing against his spine. Swiftly, I withdraw the blade as he hits the ground, and I kneel at his side. He grabs my hand and I allow someone to hold me like that for the first time.

"Stay with me," he says, and he does not need to add _while I die_ to the sentence.

With my head bowed, I indulge his final wish. He drowns in his own blood without looking away from me, and it gives me chills. Somehow, I manage not to cry. Years and years of being hardened by the world and the academy, I assume.

 _Bang_. His cannon fires and I force myself to release him.

I look up at Foxy and she looks down at me.

"It's just us now," I say, feeling obtuse but too thrown off by what I did to my best friend to care about it.

"Yeah." She does not jump down from the Cornucopia.

I do not blame her; going head to head with me will not end well for either of us.

"Will you come down from there?" I ask.

Foxy stares at her feet for a moment, then shakes her head as if angry at herself before she slides down and stands in front of me. The sun begins to rise, staining the sky pink. I imagine the Capitol will love the golden light that I see shimmering on her pallid skin. It makes for a dramatic conclusion of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

"Will you…" Foxy averts her eyes and drops my knife onto the blood-soaked grass. "Will you make it painless? I really don't want it to hurt."

I take a slow, rattling breath. Looking at her makes something inside of my chest pang. I have never felt like this before and it terrifies me.

"Foxy…" is all I can muster. _Foxy, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to kill you._

She holds up a finger and pulls berries from her pocket and unveils them in her open palm. I squint at what I do not recognize as meaning anything. They are plump and purple and pointless.

"What are those supposed to mean?" I breathlessly demand, clenching every muscle in my body.

"These are nightlock. I'll eat them, and it won't even hurt. Then you don't have to kill me. We both know you would win this fight if we were… different. You deserve to win the Games. I knew you would, so I really don't mind."

My heart skips a beat and I want to smack them from her hand. Thankfully, my glare alone freezes her in place. _She_ is supposed to win. _I_ am supposed to die in here. I understand that now.

"I've played these Games the same way every other girl from my District ever has for seventy-four years. And, like them, I believe in honor and I believe the strongest and most deserving person should win. You've played like no one else before and you've played well," I explain, the same words that echo in my head nonstop.

I reach forward and as she flinches, I grab the berries from her hand, but do not throw them on the ground like I first intend to do. She looks more afraid than when those mutts were drooling all over her, and her wide eyes stay my hand like my glowering eyes stayed hers. This is complicated. Too complicated.

Foxy reaches into her other pocket and pulls out a second handful of the berries Damn it. The finale has become an unusual standoff of two suddenly perfectly balanced foes.

She says, "You've played them better than me. I've been a coward from the start. I stood up there and hid while you killed those mutts and Cato—"

"I'm not killing you like I killed him!" I scream, no longer bothering to hide emotion. It will not matter in a minute or two. "I'm not leaving here with his blood on my hands or yours or…!"

"Isn't it obvious that I feel the exact same way about you?" Foxy whispers. Then, she looks at the berries in my palm and her eyes light up. "Why don't we just both eat them? No one says they have to have a victor. Then we're together."

I smile, and I laugh. It feels perfect. Most things in my life have been done out of spite and this is the ultimate act of defiance in the face of the people who sent me here. Who told me this would be beautiful and amazing and the opportunity of a lifetime.

For a moment, she stares at me like Cato stared at me and I have to close my eyes.

"I think it's the best idea in history," says Foxy. "Just…" Pause. "I'm… afraid. I know we'll be together but where do we go after we die?"

I laugh and reply, "I hear Hell is particularly nice at this time of year."

She laughs too and smiles, clearly comforted. "On the count of three, okay? One."

"Two," I confidently order, lifting the berries towards my lips.

We raise them to our mouths, the taste of death almost at our tongues. "Th—"

Foxy stops speaking when Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes through the Arena.

"Stop! Stop! I give you the victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games: Solanine Jones of District Five and Clove Conium of District Two!"

We exchange a relieved smirk and drop the berries to the ground.

[X]

My eyes flutter open and I see two doctors in pure white lab coats, and, hovering over me, a set of fangs attached to the woman I want to marry. Seeing Enobaria's eyes makes me forget about everything for a few moments.

"I'm alive?" I whisper.

"For now, but the stunt you pulled might get you killed. I need you to do exactly as I say; I already talked to Shepherd from Five about our plan. You are going to interrupt Caesar once you get on the stage, you are going to propose to marry Solanine, and then you are going to be a love-crazed schoolgirl while still retaining _some_ of your ruthless pride."

"But…" I look at the closed ring box Enobaria sets on my abdomen.

"But nothing. If you don't do this, _horrible_ things will happen. Trust and obey me," she hisses and the fangs make it hard to argue.

"Oh… okay…" I murmur before the anesthesiologist pumps me full of sedatives again.

[X]

The second time I wake up, I take proper inventory of my body and surroundings. I no longer feel the stinging ache of my wounds; they stitched those up. They repaired my broken arm while they were at it. I feel significantly more filled out, any signs of suffering erased from my body. When I look at my hands, I see perfect fake fingernails and a distinct lack of the scars from my training. I now apparently have smooth and luminous skin.

Around me, I see nothing but white. I sit up and my head spins before my vision clears and I see the shimmering counters and medical tools.

I tear my IV from my arm without a second thought and unclip the sheathe over my finger. An alarm rings out and two doctors enter. I glare at them and they freeze.

"Let me see my mentors," I bitterly say. "And Foxy, Sol, whatever her name is."

The doctor nervously replies, "Solanine still is recovering—"

I grab the nurse by the collar and pulls her close until her nose almost touches mine.

"You will show me Foxy, because I won't believe she's alive until you do," I snarl.

The doctor nods and helps me out of the bed. She guides me down the hall and I would shove her off of me if I knew I could balance on my own. We pass a few doors before she opens one and I see a sleeping girl with bright red hair. I would hardly recognize her if it were not for those tresses.

I now push the doctor away and walk over to shake Foxy awake, sedatives or not. Her ice blue eyes flutter open and I feel a rush of relief. I knew if the Capitol were to have one of us killed, it would be her. I am more marketable to the masses and from a favored District.

"So, I guess you're alive," I say, managing to keep my tone emotionless.

"So," Foxy replies, softly smiling, "I guess you're alive."'

A familiar, gruff male voice from behind me says, "An adorable reunion."

"Brutus," I grunt, turning around to face Cato's mentor.

"Who?" Foxy murmurs, tapping my arm. I do not turn to her.

"I was proud of you for a second, Conium," says Brutus. "The minute you killed Cato, I thought you were worth as much as the Heads and Enobaria thought. But then you went and, well, Panem knows how the rest of the love story goes."

"She's stubborn," I say, crossing my arms. "I intended to let the superior tribute win. That was her, but she wouldn't have it any other way."

Brutus frowns. "You know, maybe I agree with you after that display. I _expect_ someone from _Five_ to slip up over puppy love, and she played smart, which I can occasionally respect. I expect better from you."

My arms still crossed and face twice as sour, I say scathingly, "I think my previous indiscretions tell a different story."

"Your what?" Foxy whispers.

I turn to her. "I'll tell you later."

Brutus snorts. "She wasn't engaged to my tribute like she said. She was engaged to her own mentor, like a foolish and overconfident little girl."

I bristle and storm over to him. Even though I do not trip him up or make a dent, I shove him in the broad chest and snarl through bared teeth, "I wasn't overconfident. I _won_!"

His lips twitch and he slowly shakes his head.

"I do like you, disappointing as you are." He then frowns. "I'm supposed to escort you to your stylist, but I'll give you two a moment to discuss your lies."

He leaves the room and I walk back to Foxy's bedside.

"I told some lies too," she says and my eyebrows shoot up. "Before the recap I should tell you. It's better you find out from me. I didn't kill Katniss or Marvel. Katniss was my ally… she killed Marvel and Glimmer killed her. I had to tell you that to get you to team up with me."

The anger that surges in me might be hypocritical, but I feel it regardless.

"I thought you allied with Eleven."

"Me and Katniss and Rue were a trio," Foxy softly says, averting her eyes as if it will make me disappear. "Cato seemed to really love you."

"He always did. I just didn't love him," I admit with a quick shrug. I try to hide my agony over watching him die with a mask of indifference, but I have no clue if she buys it or not. "Is that all? That's all I lied about."

"That's all from me too. I've been more honest with you than I've been with anybody, except maybe Fission and my cat." Pause. "Are you going to be with Enobaria now?"

"I don't know," I state, because it is true. Even if I have no choice but to propose to Solanine Jones tonight, I might end up with the person who has had my heart for longer.

"That's fair," says Foxy, her eyelids beginning to sink. Sedatives. Damn.

Cordelia Shepherd suddenly bursts through the door, making her eyes shoot back open. "Sol, it's time to go. You need to get ready for the recap and ceremony." She turns to me. "And I think Brutus is getting impatient for you, Clove."

I sharply nod.

[X]

When I walk backstage before the recap, dolled up, I see Foxy across the room. She wears a blue, wavy dress that looks like the sky at midnight, sparkling with diamonds like stars. I wear fiery red with orange stones embedded on the bodice. We look like day and night.

I turn to Enobaria, who waits for me. She hands me the velvet box.

"Be smart," she says under her breath, and she gives me no other words before a woman with whiskers and jeweled eyebrows declares that Panem awaits my and Foxy's arrival.

When Foxy and I walk into the blinding light, deafened by the cheering crowds, Caesar loudly announces, "I am proud to introduce the win _ners_ of the Seventy-Four Hunger Games."

We walk forward to the sofa almost in time. Usually, the victor sits on a chair mirroring a throne, but they have to make adjustments this year. Probably many changes to protocol.

Caesar turns to us once we settle and says, "Congratulations, girls."

"Thank you, Caesar," replies Foxy.

I keep my mouth shut. Never have I been as nervous as I am with the ring box in my closed fist. I would rather face a thousand armies of those wolf mutts than do this.

"You both look beautiful. Any thoughts before the interview?"

I brashly remark, "She cleans up nice," and the crowd laughs.

"Speaking of, can I safely ask when exactly it was that you two knew you were in love?"

We both sit speechless. I know Foxy will not speak first, so I think up the best answer I can.

"I didn't until the finale, when I realized I couldn't kill her."

Foxy gives her answer, emboldened. "When she taught me to fish, but I think bandaging her injuries was the spark. I guess she was a lion with a thorn in its paw."

I have no idea what she means by that, but I smirk at being called a lion. Not bad.

Caesar glides into the next question. "Is there—?"

"I have to interrupt you, Caesar," I say, standing up. Now or never. "And…"

I suppose people ought to kneel for this, so I put on the proper show. Foxy keeps muttering, "What is happening? What is happening?" repeatedly.

"I'm asking you to marry me," I say. Something more romantic might be proper, but I open the ring box and wait for a response.

"Yes," she chokes out.

I slide it onto her finger. Most of the crowd screams… and so does Caesar. It takes every ounce of energy in me to avoid rolling my eyes at their awkward enthusiasm.

It takes a long while for them to calm down, and, by then, I return to my seat.

Caesar stammers, "We—congratulations again—I'm—I—I guess we should start the recap so you two can celebrate together!"

I turn to Solanine Jones and see in her eyes for the briefest flicker of a second that she knows we are making good television, not the foundation of a marriage. She ever-so-slightly nods at me, affirming my suspicion further.

She takes my hand in hers and clasps our fingers together.


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N:_** _My first note is that I changed the title to better fit the story.  
My second is that this is the longest chapter I have ever written.  
_ _My third is that I'm trying to stick close to canon (when it comes to the Universe, not precisely the plot), but I find it very odd that there isn't a big bash in honor of the victors after the Games. I know there's the party at the Presidential Palace at the end of the Victory Tour and all, but I decided to take some creative liberties and add a reception to the coronation ceremony.  
_ _Plus, I love the victors and feel they don't get nearly enough screen(page?) time.  
_ _And the losses all victors face at the hands of the Capitol, as well as the losses Foxface suffered before her Hunger Games. Also, I just finished watching the HBO remake of Westworld and couldn't stop thinking about Beetee.  
_ _I also snuck in a reference to my original fandom; I couldn't help it.  
_ _(And Cinna shows up for the first time this chapter too)  
_ _(I love him)  
_ _(So. Much.)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

The first party I ever attend in my life is the Victory Ceremony. At it, government officials, a sparse few valuable sponsors and the mentors of the fallen all watch the coronation of the victors and spend a few hours mingling afterwards. The first part, I have seen a thousand times on television, the second, not so much.

I wear a victor's crown on my head and my gorgeous Closing Ceremony gown on my body. I wear light blue—the color of a topaz tropical sea only seen in old paintings—and Clove wears a blood red dress that hugs her skin. She boasts far more curves than I do, even with my involuntary plastic surgery, and they would be visible from a mile away in her outfit.

The Capitolians want to see me and touch me as if they do not think I am real. After I make my appearance to everyone there, Cordelia and Enobaria usher me and Clove towards the Victors, who seem to assemble in a clump near the bar.

I make it halfway through scanning them with my eyes before Finnick Odair appears, grabs my hand, bows and kisses it. Clove scowls viciously at him and he winks at her.

"Hello, ladies of the hour," he silkily says to us both. The look in his eyes captivates me. While his posture screams hitting-on-star-crossed-lovers, his eyes brim with pity and sorrow as he examines me and my fiancée. In fact, all of the victors not from One or Two subtly look at us that way.

"Finnick Odair," mockingly says Enobaria, "I hardly recognize you with your clothes on."

Cordelia grabs my arm and guides me to the side of the room with the strangest gathering of victors. I would never expect them to be close, from what little I know. Haymitch Abernathy, the older man from Eleven whose name escapes me, Johanna Mason and Beetee Latier. The latter man pays me the most attention, his sadness not as hidden as that of the others.

Johanna Mason shoves a full shot glass into my hand. The liquor inside sloshes slightly onto my hand and I flinch. I am afraid of the beverage.

"Welcome to our very exclusive club, _Foxy_ ," the victor from Seven says, Clove's nickname for me hideous on her sharp tongue. "Drink up."

I never have had a sip of alcohol in my life and imagine this will go poorly, but they all look at me, so I down it in one foolish gulp. It takes only moments for me to feel dizzy and I immediately decide that I hate alcohol as the headache comes on and I feel in a painful daze. Do people actually enjoy this stuff?

Haymitch raises a too-full glass and in slurred speech announces, "To the Flower Girl, the _dumb_ est player in the history of the Games, and there've been _stupid ones_."

Cordelia smirks, the only one to return the raise of a glass. "I have to agree with Abernathy."

I am speechless, and desperately want to defend myself against those accusations of low intelligence, but I never stand up to people so I just blush and nod. Johanna laughs.

Beetee Latier speaks up, the sides of his eyes crinkling when he smiles at me. "You all could be _kinder_. I personally admire the Flower Girl and think she has earned our respect."

"You don't earn respect that _easy_ , Volts," Johanna Mason protests, rolling her eyes in his direction. "And, for the record, I _did_ welcome her. That's way nicer than I usually am."

I look over my shoulder and see Clove and Enobaria breaking free of Finnick Odair and striding to stand in the corner. Then I quickly look back to Cordelia's friends.

"Shepherd, you've got a strong girl there," slurs Haymitch Abernathy, squinting at me. "I was mostly just bein' blunt to the kid. She got dumb in the end."

"I would call her actions very clever," says Beetee, adjusting his glasses. He offers a fleeting smile that reminds me of my father.

"I would call her actions done out the blindness of being madly in love," Cordelia states in a stern, forceful tone that does not fit the words. "It's a trap even the brightest fall prey to."

"Of course," says Beetee Latier, smiling sadly at me.

"Ta star-crossed lovers," Haymitch slurs, before raising his glass knocks him off balance and he falls from his seat. The one-handed man from Eleven helps him up.

I bow my head and try not to make eye contact with the mentor of the origin star-crossed lovers. The real ones. Were they the real ones? No, I knew Katniss only for a short time but I knew her well enough to know that she was uninterested in romance. Clove and Cato were the real star-crossed lovers, and I crushed them.

"Solanine," says Beetee, gazing at me with a paternal empathy in his dark eyes, "would you like to see the courtyard? You're fond of flowers."

I look to Cordelia for permission and she nods.

At that, Beetee Latier leads me out into the cold air. The nighttime breeze soothes me and dries the sweat on my skin. It may be summer in a city, but the courtyard gives reprieve.

"You looked uncomfortable and, as the only sober person in the room, I thought I'd give you a hand. My friends are a bit off-putting at first," he says, offering that smile that I now see is wistful, not purely sorrowful. "Solanine is a chemical compound, isn't it?"

"Yes, a glycoalkaloid that's found in nightshade," I reply, nodding.

"You know that?" Beetee Latier smiles at me, again, like a proud father.

"I wanted to be a scientist," I admit. "My mother loved it in school but she was from the poor part of town and they don't research power; they just make sure the plants function properly. Her feet would be so sore when she got back from work and she would read from science books while she rested on our ratty old couch."

"The courtyard is a very nice place, but I would watch out for insects while we walk," says Beetee. At first it baffles me, but then I realize that insects are also called _bugs_.

"Of course. I really hate bugs," I reply, hoping using that final word will show I understood his secret message.

"I know the other victors have thorny exteriors but they're good people to be around once you get to know them. We all appreciated the way you played the Games," says Beetee, picking a flower and then letting it slip from his fingertips. "Your alliances were very smart choices."

He turns to me. Now I do not understand what he means, and I doubt he can clarify when the Capitol spies on us.

I softly explain, "I picked with my mind, not my heart. I don't think I have one of those."

Beetee acts like he knows me when he argues, "You appear to have been gifted with a very good heart for someone who denies having one."

"You don't know me yet. Once you know me, you'll understand why I say I'm heartless. I'm cold and reserved and a liar and a coward and… other undesirable things." I speak only the truth.

He changes the subject, calmly saying, "You've mentioned your mother. Do you have a father waiting for you at home?"

"No. Just a brother." Pause. I rarely am forthcoming about family matters, but Beetee Latier is the only sympathetic person I have come across in weeks. "My mother died because she broke a law, which was very wrong. My father, however, just never came home one day. I still don't know if he left us or if he died too."

He rubs his chin. "This was after your mother's passing?"

"Yes. He was raising me and Fission, then, suddenly, he wasn't. You remind me a bit of him, which is maybe why I'm babbling so much…"

Beetee ignores that comment and picks a flower from the courtyard.

"They won't miss it," he whispers, and he slides it atop my ear. "For the Flower Girl."

I dare ask, "Why do people keep calling me that?"

"It's a nickname everyone in the Capitol came up with while they drooled over you and Clove. I like it. A name like that has power." He again adjusts his glasses.

"Speaking of names, what's the name of the victor from Eleven? Haymitch's friend."

"Chaff. He's a good man."

I nod. "Is he a forgiving one?"

Beetee assertively replies, "Let's just say him and Haymitch and I chipped in with our remaining funds to get you those gifts Cordelia sent."

It brings tears to my eyes, but I swiftly blink them away. I know I should have been brave and done something to save Rue and Katniss, and I know they would rather be calling one of them the Flower Girl. Yet, they sponsored me in the end. Beetee must be right about them just being rough around the edges.

Then I wonder if they sponsored me for their own devices.

I shiver.

"It's cold out. Maybe we should go back inside," I say.

Beetee nods and leads the way.

[X]

On the day we leave for our respective districts, I meet Clove outside of President Snow's office, where Valentina Nyxeris and Satin Athens have taken us. Perhaps my escort and my fiancée are at my side, but I feel alone. Alone, and afraid.

Slowly, an assistant with metallic silver hair leaves the office and gestures into the room with a smile. I squeeze Clove's hand and we enter the office. My fiancée walks right to the two chairs across from him at his desk and sits down. I freeze in place.

"I was thinking about your wedding," he says, and then looks up at me. He glances at the seat next to Clove. "You may sit down, Miss Jones."

"Thank you, sir," I murmur, tip-toeing across the room and sitting before him.

"As I was saying, I was thinking about your wedding. It would be appropriate to host it at the end of the Victory Tour, don't you think?" President Snow offers. My stomach twists in knots at the thought of it coming so soon. "It would be good timing to film it for the public and give you time to plan something truly grand and worthy of the star-crossed lovers."

I exchange a glance with Clove. We are not lovers. What are we? I have no idea where we stand with each other or if I will ever kiss her again or if I would even _like_ kissing her again.

"The Games were… complicated this year," Clove says, voicing what I do not. "The emotions and adrenaline and hormones all need to wear off before we can be Panem's happiest couple."

"Six months is more than enough," sternly says President Snow, snake-like eyes flashing with a sudden, startling rage. "I will put you both in contact with the appropriate sources so that you may dazzle Panem with your wedding."

I see the threat in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but I do not know what lurks beneath the surface. It all seems well and fine; Panem expects a fabulous wedding. Yet, I know I have yet to dig deep enough to fully comprehend the broken rules that I owe my life to.

"Thank you, sir," says Clove with a polite bow of her head.

She grabs me by the arm when she stands up. That is for the best; I think I am frozen solid from fear and confusion.

"Enjoy your brief time apart, my dears," says President Snow, shooting us a slippery smile. "Absence, as they say, only makes the heart grow fonder."

 _That_ has to have more meaning. I do not get it. I _cannot_ grasp this new reality.

I feel as dumb as Haymitch Abernathy thinks I am when Clove drags me from the room.

[X]

When I finally arrive home, I leave the train, nimbly edge my way through the crowd, and wrap my arms tightly around Fission and refuse to release him even when he struggles. Finally, I let him go and smile at the scruffy kid.

I see the cuddly black cat in his arms, looking so content. Spooks always liked being held like a baby, something many have told me cats tend to resent. I take my cat in my arms and kiss her head.

After catching up to me, Cordelia turns to me and my brother. "Y'know," she says, looking pained, "I should've done more for you kids when your mom, well, she…" Pause. "Maybe not, maybe, I don't know at this point. I hate speculating. Just, if you two and that mangy cat want to move in with me then you…"

Fission replies brightly, "We'd love to!" even if he does not know that Cordelia was best friends with our mother, and I assume that explains her feelings of obligation.

At that, we finish greeting the few people who we deem suitable and walk to the Victor's Village. I admittedly have been here before to rob some of the empty houses, but I never imagined living here in a million years.

Cordelia leads us to her house and I hold my breath as I walk inside with Fission.

Maybe I can find it.

Maybe I can find the life of a victor here.

[X]

I have nightmares about Katniss Everdeen on my first night home in Five. She burns alive, screaming, while I stand there, holding water but unable to will my hands to put it out.

In the morning, I barely can get myself out of bed until I hear loud cursing and the banging of kitchen supplies. I rub my eyes and head downstairs to see Fission trying to walk Cordelia through making breakfast. Maybe they can help me forget how cowardly I was when it came to Katniss.

Cordelia burns three batches of scrambled eggs in a row. This is a problem in a district where chickens are few and far between, and eventually she just hacks a loaf of bread into uneven pieces and makes toast in the dirty pan.

"What?" she demands with a scowl as she sets breakfast in front of me and Fission. "I'm not _good_ at the _mommy_ thing. Get used to it, kids."

I try to stop myself but I burst into laughter and Fission swiftly follows. Cordelia starts to cackle along with us and we probably look like raving lunatics. We probably _are_ raving lunatics.

We are family now.

I have a family again, more than just Fission.

[X]

A few days later, I sit awake after another nightmare, Spooks curled up on my lap, sipping the tea Cordelia made me. It is terrible by any standard, but I am in no state to care about flavor. She steers clear of me while I calm my breathing and then finally sets a slip of paper on the table in front of me.

Old ink lists names with strings of numbers beside them. I scan the lineup and see various victors and a few perhaps Capitolian names—or perhaps other victors I do not know—and I notice an oddity halfway down.

I inquire, "Why is Haymitch Abernathy's name crossed out? You two seemed friendly."

Cordelia snorts and chuckles to herself. "The idiot pulled his phone out of the wall."

I just shrug and continue reading. At the end, I see fresh ink with Clove's name and number. Instantly, I recoil. From the look in Cordelia's eyes, I suppose that was not the desired effect.

"Th-thank you," I stammer. My cat stirs in her sleep.

Cordelia purses her lips.

[X]

The next evening, I stare at Cordelia's phone. It sits innocuously on the wall, an inanimate object, yet, I feel like it glares back at me. Maybe what I imagine on the other line does the glaring, not the hunk of plastic. My mentor sees the strange scene and _must_ comment, of course, because she is Cordelia and I have become used to her minding my business.

"What's up with you?" Cordelia asks, leaning against the wall.

"I was thinking about calling Clove," I say robotically, taking care not to let a hint of emotion sneak into my voice. The older, wiser woman probably sees through it, though.

"Go right ahead." Cordelia shrugs. "That wouldn't be out of line. She's your fiancée."

"I want to call her. I like her. I have feelings for her. She doesn't have feelings for me."

Cordelia grunts and waves her hand dismissively. "If that girl didn't have feelings for you she would've cut your throat and pulled your tongue out through the hole."

I scrunch up my face. " _That's_ a pretty image."

"I'm just pointing out the obvious. Clove trained her whole life to win the Games and I don't think she'd just hand 'em over because she thought you _played them well_."

"I know, I know, but I think that was just adrenaline and hormones. Bad combination. She's probably really happy with the person she _actually_ loves and I bet they moved in together and I bet they sleep in the same bed and I bet they kiss all the time and I don't know why it infuriates me."

"You clearly know something I don't about Clove."

"She was engaged before she was engaged to me and certainly not to Cato! Her _mentor_ gave her that ring not him!"

Cordelia blanches, then suddenly grins. "That's so sick and so oddly delightful. That woman always just seemed so _perfect_. Worse than _One_ , oh, but she's not. She's not."

"I don't care about how much you hate Enobaria Whitethorn! That doesn't matter at all to me because the person I love loves her! And she's prettier than me."

"Enobaria Whitethorn is absolutely not prettier than you, and if that was the only thing that mattered to Clove I would personally murder her."

"I don't think I should call."

" _Sol_ , call that girl immediately."

"Maybe…" I look down at the page in my hand.

I grab the phone with my sweaty hands and punch in the numbers.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—

 _"_ _Who's this?"_ asks a familiar voice.

"Sol," I softly reply.

 _"_ _Oh. Hey, Foxy."_

I glower at Cordelia. She does _not_ sound enthusiastic. Her tone is _casual_ and _blunt_.

"I just thought it would be—appropr—I—I—do you think I should wear gloves with my wedding dress?"

Cordelia chortles and I want to scream at her.

 _"_ _I honestly don't care. Makes you less susceptible to poisoning if you wear them. An ironic death if there ever was one."_

"Susceptible to poisoning…?"

 _"_ _Yeah. I thought you were the smart one. Any idiot doesn't just put poison in a drink. They coat the outside of the glass or the outside of a bouquet or any other kind of surface you'd touch and the poison goes through your skin."_

"That seems elaborate."

 _"_ _It seems like something you'd know. You didn't call me to ask about gloves. I might not be the smart one but I'm not stupid either."_

"I just called to see if… if you're ostracized or something for winning with me."

Cordelia's laughter by now probably is audible to Clove. I hate my mentor slash other mother.

 _"_ _Not really. People are too scared of me to question my life choices."_

"Are you happy then?"

 _"_ _I'm never happy. Happiness is for the weak."_

"Oh. Good chat. Bye!" I slam the phone down and my head begins to spin.

After that, I spend the night lying awake in bed wondering if I should call back and try again. I decide against it, but then I hear the phone ringing. The sound is new and somewhat alien, but I am intelligent enough to identify it. I get up and scurry silently down the stairs to answer it, but see from the shadows that Cordelia already laid claim to the device.

"Abernathy? To what do I owe the pleasure of you hiring a damned handyman?" She sounds bewildered.

Pause.

"I'm _flattered_ you repaired it all for this call to me _,_ but I'm not a sidepiece—especially not to that _Capitol hag_ you're with—so this better not be a romantic advance."

Pause.

"We really shouldn't talk about this on the phone…"

Pause.

"You're sure? You better be sure."

Pause.

"I'm having second thoughts about _everything_. People skills aren't Sol's strong suit, and the other girl does whatever her mentor says and we both know she's the opposite of interested in helping. We need something better."

Pause.

"I _know_ she's the _Flower Girl_ or whatever you and everyone else want to call her."

Pause.

" _Abernathy_ , how much have you had to drink tonight? Because I honestly think the amount of liquor it would take to think _that_ plan is a good idea would kill most people."

Pause.

"I know it's best not to—I _know_."

Pause.

"Everdeen."

Pause.

"No. Not Katniss. She's a lovely martyr but I'm talking about the little sister. Primrose or whatever her name is."

Pause.

"Your tributes were better. You can stop pretending, and wake up to the fact that we need to keep that archer martyr alive in the minds of Panem. It's why I called you first instead of Beetee or Finnick, you ancient sod. Your _plan_ was better than whatever Sol and Clove made up on the spot, which amazes me, because I rarely have seen you lucid. Will you help me out? Try to make a bond with Primrose. Do _something_ with that child before the Victory Tour."

Cordelia rolls her eyes, groans and hangs up, muttering to herself that Haymitch is a good for nothing drunk.

"I know that Katniss and Peeta were… better," I daringly say—albeit in such a soft whisper that Cordelia must cross the room to hear me—as I emerge from my hiding place. Cordelia jumps. "Me and… me and Clove were never supposed to be together but that doesn't mean I love her any less. And you really—you really should leave Prim out of it. I feel bad enough that I couldn't save her sister. I couldn't do any better than to give her a sham of a funeral."

Maybe I rehearsed those words while Cordelia was silent and Haymitch must have been talking, but I needed to say them. Still, my stomach twists into knots and my breathing becomes rapid and shallow. I hate voicing my opinion. No good comes of it.

"Kid, this is none of your business," Cordelia says.

"You were talking about _me_." I try to yell, but my voice comes out soft.

"That doesn't make it your business."

I am too afraid to argue, even if I disagree. I already tremble from the confrontation and the fear of saying so much to my mentor and do not need to prolong the scary conversation. I hate myself for saying anything about Katniss and Peeta, the _real_ star-crossed lovers. Maybe Clove and Enobaria were more real than them. Clove and Cato were, and Clove murdered him.

"We were infatuated with each other," I whisper. "Maybe that's it."

"You love her," says Cordelia. "You love her a lot and that's not a bad thing. It's sure not a good thing either but you need to stop overthinking it all."

"I overthink _everything_ ," I whisper. "It's who I am."

"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were not better. They were just better planned and the best laid plans tend to go wrong. You and Clove were unexpected, and the Capitol accidentally made you both, which I personally appreciate. Your love story wasn't meant to exist and you two sure weren't lovestruck before the Games like the kids from Twelve and Clove and her mentor. The Games made your love and they made the debacle with those nightlock berries. You're right when you say you were never meant to be together but that's the best part. Two and Five stirring the pot and sharing kisses and almost meeting a tragic end…"

I suddenly realize the implications of the situation. "I don't want this. Make it go away, please. Please, Cordelia, make it go away."

At that, I cannot help but start wretchedly crying.

"You can't undo what you and Clove did in that Arena. I mean, I recommend you both keep up your appearances and have a big, beautiful, regal wedding and then settle down in the Capitol and raise children or something."

"I want that," I choke. "I just want to marry her and then fade away."

Cordelia suddenly seems sad. "You won't fade away. After spinning up a love story so captivating that Seneca Crane broke the one rule of the Hunger Games, you'll be in the spotlight for the rest of your life."

I cannot speak due to the tears consuming me.

[X]

Clove calls me three days after I catch Cordelia having a secretive conversation with Haymitch Abernathy. I answer the phone expecting someone for my mentor and instead get that familiar, rough but silky and confident voice that I struggle to remember unless I hear it.

 _"_ _Our… our last conversation was weird, huh?"_

"Yep," I whisper.

 _"_ _I think it's kinda cute how bad you are at this dating thing, but if you tell anyone I said that I'm gonna kill you."_

"Your secret is safe with me." I begin to smile. "We're dating?"

 _"_ _Engaged. I don't know if we're dating."_

"Yeah. I don't think we're dating unless we do…" My eyes widen as I realize I do not know the proper words to express my thoughts. So, I hastily try out, "Unless we do activities together."

Clove laughs uproariously. I think I might melt from the heat in my cheeks.

 _"_ _Do,"_ Clove says between gasps, _"activities together?"_

"Ummm… yes. Outings and such."

 _"_ _Foxy, Foxy, Foxy…"_

"How's Enobaria?" Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I ask that?

 _"_ _Alive and well,"_ Clove replies, an answer I cannot dissect and examine at the moment.

"How are you?" I stammer.

 _"_ _Also alive."_

"And your half of the wedding planning is going smoothly? Mine is," I lie. Truthfully, I barely have touched the Capitol catalogues and recommendations from Valentina Nyxeris.

 _"_ _I thought planning the wedding was the job of stylists and other sad people without better things to do. Honestly, I don't even know what wedding planning involves."_

"Color schemes and dresses and flowers."

 _"_ _I had a thought,"_ says Clove, " _They'll have to find wedding dresses for us. Why don't we request to do it in the Capitol? Then we can see if our conversations in real life are half as awkward and hilarious as our ones on the phone."_

"S-sounds good!"

 _"_ _I'll arrange it."_

I sigh in relief. "Oh, thank you so much."

 _"_ _No problem."_ I can just hear the smug smirk through the phone.

[X]

A few weeks later, the Capitol summons Clove and I to prepare for the approaching wedding, dress-fittings, cake-tastings, the likes. All the things that the wedding magazines I occasionally thumb through talk about in nauseating detail.

The train ride to the Capitol is long and painful for me. Cordelia rides with me and Valentina Nyxeris picks us up from the station. I suppose she must work as an escort year-round when duty calls. She leads me and Cordelia to the most incredible car I have ever seen, and then we enter a boutique in what all the signs seem to call the 'Fashion District.'

Clove already sits inside; the voyage from Two is much shorter. She rises and kisses me, but it feels cold and far from genuine.

"So, now that we're both in the Capitol, maybe we can do an activity together." She snickers with a roll of her eyes and slight shrug of her shoulder. I furiously blush in response. "An activity not already on the wedding-planning itinerary. Yawn."

"If we have time," I say quietly. Clove shrugs at me and I cannot figure out what it means.

"Right," she does reply, in a tone that also strikes me as ambiguous.

My prep team leaps from the other room like an ambush and start tearing me to pieces. Another team drags Clove away in the opposite direction and I simply surrender.

After I am at beauty-base-zero, Septima enters the room with a man at her side. I cannot help but stare at him and his golden eyeliner.

"This is my husband," Septima says. "He helped me with the wedding dress for you."

"Nice to meet you," I whisper.

"I'm Cinna. And you would be Sol?" he inquires, smiling at me.

He looks natural, more so than Septima. She subscribes to bright colors and has shimmering tattoos and certainly some plastic surgery, unlike her husband. Other than a hint of gold, he might as well be from the districts.

"Yeah," I breathlessly squeak, blushing redder than my hair.

"I figured. Everybody does know your name," he says, offering a cryptic smile. "I'm also a stylist for the Games."

"Is that how you two met?" I whisper.

Septima smiles and nods. "Only, he has an _adorable_ soft spot for underdogs and I used to style District One. I never let him forget it."

"You used to style District One?"

"Mhm. I was… downgraded to Five after a faux pas, but I certainly don't regret it. If I didn't style you I would be missing out on the best tribute I have _ever_ laid eyes on." Septima smiles at me and squeezes my hand.

"I'll be down the street getting a little coffee," says Cinna, shooting a loving smile at Septima and walking out of the studio. He pauses and reopens the door. "I'll get you something complicated."

"You know me too well," chimes Septima as he disappears.

"Did you want me to meet him?" I softly inquire.

"First off, I'd want _anyone_ to meet you because you're a wonderful, beautiful little tropical fish. _But_ he asked to come along to meet you. He made the Girl on Fire burn. So did you."

I feel my muscles clench and my breath speed up. I smell the Arena so strongly that I might as well be there and I see before me as plain as day, Katniss Everdeen covered in prairie-fire. I linger in this horrid, false world until slender, sparkling arms pull me out of it.

Septima drags me into an embrace and holds me until I catch my breath and the image of Katniss draped in fiery flowers disappears.

"Are you okay?" she asks, staring directly into my eyes. I notice that hers are artificially violet.

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Then let's get down to business. I have the grandest wedding dress the world will ever see," says Septima. "Brides glow, but they won't glow as literally as you will."

"Please don't paint my skin glow-in-the-dark."

"Tsk, tsk. I'm not tacky. You know that." Septima opens the dress bag and then makes me turn away from the mirror as she slides it onto my body. It fits far better than the first dress I ever wore to please the Capitol. "Okay. Turn around."

I take a deep breath before I obey. Then my eyes widen and my lips part from shock.

My dress is white, as a wedding dress out to be, but it glows even brighter than stars in the sky. It _radiates_ light, shining as brightly and boldly as the sun itself.

"It's…"

"I know," interrupts Septima. "You're from the Power District and I thought I'd do something to honor your home before you move to the Capitol. You will glow, Solanine Jones. No more hiding for you. You can't blend in anymore."

"And Clove?"

"I believe her dress has more lace and less brilliant and blinding light."

"Because she'd easily outshine me without me wearing an outfit by you."

Septima grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her.

"No one outshines the Flower Girl. if you wear rags, you're still a force to be reckoned with under that mousy little exterior. I see that inner supernova and other people do too. I doubt Clove would be so attracted to you if you were truly as weak as you act."

"I am exactly as weak as I act. If I ever seem strong, that's when I'm pretending."

Septima grabs my hands and holds me in front of her.

With fire in her eyes, she states, "You. Will. Glow."

She says no more.

[X]

I have an interesting afternoon and evening with Clove on our wedding planning adventure and our uncomfortable date at Galen Park. Everything that happened today leaves me confused, beyond confused, more than I have ever been in my life. I do not have time to process everything that happened in the past hours when my prep team appears out of thin air and I find myself carted to a televised interview on Caesar Flickerman's popular talk show, very humbly tightly _Caesar_.

I sit beside Clove and she does all of the talking. Somehow, she manages to sound interested in the wedding, which is the exact opposite of her actions and comments throughout the day.

"And someone very, very important would like to make a very, very important request," Caesar says after forcing a few words out of me.

Walking into the bright, blinding lights, President Snow introduces himself. He _is_ charming when not making vague veiled threats.

"Solanine Jones," says President Snow, turning to me and smiling like a mountain lion sizing up a baby fox. I think I might faint from fear. "As you lost your father and have no other relatives, I would simply love the honor of walking you down the aisle."

"How about it?" Caesar exclaims, seeming thrilled to the core.

Clove makes an angry sound in the back of her throat. I wonder if I will have to hold her back from attacking the President on National Television.

"That would be perfect," I declare as loudly as I can make my small voice, flashing a smile at the cameras, then warmly smiling at him. "Thank you."

"I cannot wait to hand you over to this very worthy woman of District Two like my own daughter." He takes my hand and kisses it. My skin crawls.

I set my other hand on Clove's knee, because I think she truly might throttle him.

"Yes, thank you," Clove grunts.

President Snow turns to her. "This is a forgotten phrase, lost to the Dark Days, but I find it very aptly describes this lovely young couple. May I, Miss Conium?"

"Of course, sir," says Clove, turning red beneath her make-up. I see it, but hope no one else can. "I'd love to hear it."

" _And lo_ ," he quotes, " _the beast looked upon the face of beauty and beauty stayed his hand."_

I turn to Clove and truly look at her for the first time since our trip to the Plaza Gardens earlier this afternoon. The awkwardness of our earlier date melts away.

The quotation holds true. This bloodthirsty career tribute was going to kill me, but, for some reason, she looked at me and could not.

 _And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty and beauty stayed_ her _hand._

[X]

I avoid Clove for the entire morning thanks to Galen Park and the appearance on _Caesar_ , until I get on the train, and am left wondering if this will ever work out. As I sit and sip hot chocolate with flakes of real gold in it, I look up at Cordelia (whom sips very strong alcohol).

"I don't think me and Clove are in love," I softly say. "I think we fell in love because of the Games and I think we're not… compatible people outside of them. Maybe we were madly in love, enough to… to want to die for each other but I don't think we can live for each other."

"You can be a damned good speaker when you're not scared to death of talking," says Cordelia. She sets down her drink and sighs. "I bet it was the adrenaline and surging hormones, but you don't have a choice but to love that girl. She's all you've got."

"I know," I say, faintly frowning. "I just want to go home."

Cordelia nods.

[X]

The laws of Panem strictly forbid travel between districts. Of course, the Victory Tour always has been an exception, and, while the cameras would come to District Five if I were alone as a victor, today I am to board a train to District Two, where the tour will begin.

Weeks passed too swiftly as I went through the cycle of long days picking flowers, inserting myself into Fission's life, struggling to fall asleep, having nightmares, waking up, having tea with Cordelia...

Now I tremble as Valentina Nyxeris, my prep team and Septima all arrive by train. I stumble through greeting them while preoccupied with worries.

"The cameras will be there to see your reunion with Clove," prattles Valentina Nyxeris. "So, we will make you look _perfect_ during the train ride. We don't want you to be caught looking like… _this_. Bring your wedding magazines and anything for the wedding you have. We're skipping your talents and spending that precious time focused on little spoiler secrets for the _biggest_ event in Panem history. Your wedding, _oh_ …"

"It's exciting," I say, although my ill pallor probably betrays my lie. "I can't wait."

Septima announces herself and I smile at her. She has a way of making people feel at ease, which must have a good deal to do with her dressing up kids on their way to their deaths. Her hair and skin are blue today and she sports the trendy flowers in her hair and on her complicated outfit.

"I will make you look so ravishing that Clove's jaw will just _drop_ ," says Septima and I laugh at the very thought. I do not think anything could surprise that girl.

Still, I let my stylist doll me up for the journey to the highly anticipated reunion moment.

Afterwards, with Cordelia, a prep team and Septima at my sides, I step onto the train that will take me to District Two.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

Six months before Solanine Jones boards a train to District Two, at the Victory Ceremony, "Finnick Odair," says Enobaria, "I hardly recognize you with your clothes on."

The moment Cordelia drags Foxy away to the bar, I turn and scowl at the young man who scared her and Shepherd away. My mentor smirks at him.

"Such a _biting_ comment," smoothly teases Finnick, laughing at his own joke.

Sarcastically, my mentor says, "Your sharp wit floors me, as always."

"As always?" I ask, glancing between them. Enobaria never was found of pretty boys. In fact, despite his strength and demeanor, she considered Cato to be just that. Cato…

I blink several times and take three breaths to try to erase those strange feelings.

"Well," says Enobaria, now facing me, "you'll find I know the allegedly 'best' victors quite intimately."

I clench my fists and only tighten them when I see his eyes sparkle.

"Not like that," Finnick Odair assures me, as if I need evidence of loyalty. I do not, and it makes me consider punching him in front of all of the distinguished guests. "Your mentor used poor phrasing."

He pauses before mentor and I lock eyes with Enobaria.

"Calm down, Clove," she orders, in the tone of a mentor and not a girlfriend. "I somewhat respect the sea hick. He won admirably."

Finnick wags his finger. "Sea hick. That's a new one." He catches my gaze and I make sure to glower. "You're the _special_ student, aren't you?"

"Define _special_ , Odair," I snarl.

He just smiles and shakes his head. Instead of answering, he comments, "I have at least a _little_ dirt on everyone who is anyone, and Enobaria is, in fact, someone. I'll keep my mouth shut; don't worry. Your little secret is very safe with me."

"I know, because if you spilled it I would rip your—"

Enobaria repeats, this time more fiercely, "Calm down, Clove."

Finnick takes that as a cue to leave, thankfully for him. Enobaria takes my arm and drags me to the sideline of the party.

"I'm very confused by the conversation I just had with the Pretty Boy from Four."

"He's not a friend, but I'd… call him an acquaintance." Enobaria shrugs. "I know him well enough to know that he won't do anything stupid. He is slightly smarter than he looks."

"So, about as bright as a box of rocks?"

"He was telling the truth about having dirt on everyone. I guess it makes him feel important. But what we have will never put you at risk, if I have any say in it, and I always do."

"Present tense?"

"Present tense. After tonight, we will go back to Two, and for six months we won't have to worry about cameras or making out with Foxy."

"Then I get married. Then what?"

"Stop thinking ahead. It doesn't suit you."

My _favorite_ victor approaches and interrupts me and Enobaria. I turn around to face my other mentor, who looks disapprovingly at us both.

"Maybe you lovebirds shouldn't flaunt your sexual chemistry while on camera. Foxy would hate it." He smirks. "Not that I care much about Panem's favorite romance story. It isn't a very good one, in my opinion, even without my two-timing tribute."

Enobaria purrs, "Brutus, you would know nothing about romance, since no woman would fall for someone who looks so much like a muttation, and saying that is an insult to mutts."

Brutus snorts. "I am very handsome, and you know it. There's no shortage in my district."

I cannot describe the level of disgust and churning in my stomach at that remark.

"I'm out," I say, striding into the crowd.

I do not find Foxy for the rest of the night, and do not see her until President Snow summons us to his office the next morning.

[X]

The first nightmare hits me on the train home. I am in what I know to be the Arena but the sky swirls and melts into colors that do not belong. The eeriness consumes me as I lie bleeding, by the Cornucopia, in the same pool of blood Cato was in after I stabbed him. But I look up at him, and he holds my hand—but everything is so blurry and so sore and so confusing—and instead of sitting silently he begs me to stay with him and makes promises and I do not remember all of the words once I wake up, drenched in sweat that soaks the sheets beneath me and drenches my pajamas.

I get up and try to find clothes to change into. Sharp, manicured nails brush against my shoulder. I recognize her touch before I turn around.

"They only happen after it's over," says Enobaria softly. "Supposedly, it's because your head just can't process it while you're still in the Games, still in the Capitol. Then you reach the silence, and it all starts crashing down."

I turn around. "That isn't fair."

"Has anything ever been fair in your life?" she coldly asks, nostrils flaring.

"No," I reply without hesitation. "Let's pretend this didn't happen."

"Of course. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're weak." It almost sounds sarcastic, but her words _are_ true. No one ever talks about anything like this at the Academy. She never even explained her own nightmares to me once and I do not expect to behave any differently than the victors I admired in my youth.

"You have them too, don't you?" I ask.

"Yes," says Enobaria and I do not press her to divulge more information.

She kisses me and I wander back to bed.

I do not know if I ever will sleep again.

[X]

Within a day of returning to District Two, I must attend Cato's funeral. He will be burned on a pyre, removed from his plain wooden coffin, while those deemed worthy gather around the honorable tribute. It takes place at a reclaimed abandoned quarry and the old, forgotten, worthless stone rises like small hills around me.

As I stand there and stare at his body, I feel like a pariah. Eyes avoid me, I radiate unease, and I know that everyone here sees me as weak or traitorous, even if they hide it to pay their respects to a victor. I chose the life of a girl from District Five over an honorable duel with my district partner, and no one will ever forgive that.

The dark red polish from my Victory Ceremony still clings in chips to my peeling fingernails. I notice it more than I have yet as I try not to look at the body lifted from the plain wooden coffin and set on the pyre.

"You're supposed to speak," whispers Enobaria and I slightly jump. I was engrossed in my own hands while Brutus said his peace as firelight made dancing shadows on his face.

"I…" _I was hoping they let me off since I killed him so disgracefully._ "Right."

Slowly, I walk forward. The heat, the sickly smell, the churning in my stomach. Everyone stares at me now, instead of pretending I am invisible.

"He was my best friend," I declare, daring anyone to protest.

I say nothing more. No one tries to make me add anything superfluous.

All I do is let the acrid smoke sting my eyes for a moment before excusing myself.

[X]

After the funeral, I abandon my awarded home in the Victor's Village and move in with my neighbor, Enobaria Whitethorn. We do not hesitate to share a bed, even if there are several rooms for me to choose from.

On my first night, I wake her with my nightmares. We sit in silence; she does not comfort me and I am grateful for it.

"When I die," I say, reality still blurry and bleak around me, "I don't want to be burned. I want you to sink me in the river."

Enobaria does not respond at first. Predictably, she changes the subject. "Tomorrow morning do you want to go swimming at that Quarry you went on about during your Games?"

"Was that part televised?" I ask, embarrassed. How _dare they_ show a moment where I displayed humanity when I am a _career_ and deserve to be shown as bloodthirsty.

"To me it was. I watched you from the Control Room," says Enobaria, and I suppose I should have assumed that the mentors get a feed of purely their tributes.

"That sounds fine," I reply. It sounds fun, to tell the truth, but I would never say it. I am a victor now, which means I must display even more indifference and dignity than I did when I was merely a soldier at the Academy.

I lie down and somehow manage to sleep. In the morning, I get dressed alongside Enobaria and we make the journey to the abandoned quarry. We look down at the light blue water that fills the deep crevasse.

Enobaria inquires, "Care to jump in first?"

I strip off my outer layer of clothes and run across the gravel. Squeezing my eyes shut, I jump down and hope that the water is not shallow here. In midair, I realize how little I care if I live or die. The Games made me that way.

Once I splash into the gentle waves, I stop thinking about my new mindset and swim. The ice cold feels good on the hot summer day, and I swim up to the surface, taking a deep breath.

"Come on!" I call up to Enobaria. She shakes her head at me, but then strips halfway down and jumps in from the same rock that I did.

As she treads water, I swim down and open my eyes under the surface. It stings but I see the shadows of abandoned equipment buried beneath feet and feet of icy water. I gaze at it for a few moments before I swim back to the surface.

She waits for me there.

I think, for the first time since the Hunger Games, that maybe I can be happy.

[X]

A week later, I have sex with Enobaria and we stay up talking until seven or eight in the morning. That has become par for the course with us, but it still feels strange to not be worried about someone finding us or ever running late or ever being tired during training.

"I want to find my family," I state. "I'm allowed to do that now, right?"

"Yes." She looks inexplicably unhappy about my suggestion.

I ignore her expression and ask, "Did you ever track down yours?"

Enobaria casually explains without a trace of emotion, "Mine was dead long before my Games. I'm an orphan and an only child. That's why I was raised at the Academy."

"Oh."

"And…" Enobaria sits up. "Clove, I don't think we should find them."

"Why not?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

"Because we can't give Sn—someone any leverage over you. It's safest for them if they stay away from you. We can look up who they are if you want, but I don't think we should find them in person," states Enobaria.

At first, I glare, offended. Then, I see her eyes. She looks pained, agonized even. I wonder what experience she has that makes her so passionate about keeping me away from my mother and siblings. Who did she lose? Who does she blame herself for hurting? What has she done to make her look pale at the very thought of attachment to other humans?

"I want to look them up. Then, I'll decide if I'll find them or not," I state. "Soon, I'll be living in the Capitol and I won't get the opportunity to find them. I'm not going to spend my whole life wondering about them over a _possible_ danger."

"It is not _possible_ ," snarls Enobaria, gold tips on her teeth flashing in the bright moonlight. "It is a _certainty_. But I will help you find them if you insist."

"Thanks," I sharply say.

[X]

Enobaria and I search the many files in the offices of the Academy. At last, I find mine and start reading. I flip past the grades and notes explaining that I would be assigned to a District of my choice if I did not make it into the Hunger Games. Finally, I find the write-up from my acceptance to the Academy years ago.

I find my mother's name, my home address…

"Let's go," I say, my eyes wide. Enobaria shuts the cabinet she was rummaging in. "I found the address and let's go find my family."

Enobaria frowns. "Are you sure? I still advise that you avoid associating with anyone who could be used against you."

"Yes. I am sure, unless you can explain _why_ I should be worried."

She opens her mouth and seems about to speak, but she closes it again. Sadly, she says, "Fine. I'll drive."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Drive?"

"I found keys to one of the peacekeeper trucks." She holds them up by the rusty keyring.

"Do you know _how_ to drive?"

"Yes," says Enobaria. "I learned when I first won the Games. I _also_ had a list of things I wanted to do once I became a person and not just a serial number. Driving was one."

I smirk.

[X]

It takes until morning to reach the other side of District Two. Enobaria tells me I have permission to sleep, but I am too nervous. I thought very little about my family when I was intently focused on winning the Hunger Games. Now, I suppose all the thoughts caught up to me.

They cease when Enobaria and I must get out of the truck and walk across the muddy dirt roads to one of the poorest quarry-centered neighborhoods. I uncrumple the paper that was in my sweaty fist and find the address.

We walk to the house. I look at the broken window and the ajar door, and know that my mother made the right choice giving me to the Academy. A brawny boy with dark hair walks out of the dilapidated house and squints at me and my girlfriend.

"Enobaria Whitethorn?" he asks, his voice deep and rich. "And… Clove?"

He walks across the yellowed lawn and glances between us.

"Are you my brother?" I ask, my heart pounding its way into my throat.

"I guess," says the boy. "I saw you in the Games."

My first true sentence to my long-lost sibling is, "All of Panem did. It's kind of required."

He laughs. I do not know why.

"Did you come looking for me?"

I clear my throat and say, "And our mother."

He frowns. "She died a few years ago. I live here with my wife and kids now. You can meet them, if you want. It's Sunday and all so me and Rosie are off work and they're off school."

"I'd like that, uh…?" I realize I do not know my own brother's name.

"Balsam," he answers, shooting me a smirk. It looks quite a bit like my own. "Oh, and, I, Enobaria Whitethorn. I noticed you but I was thinking about Clove."

She purses her lips. He wipes his brow nervously and gestures for us to follow him inside.

"Rosie!" he calls into the tiny house. "You'll never guess who showed up to visit!"

Two young girls in dirty dresses run into the foyer. They have flowers in their hair and appear to be twins.

"Clove Conium!" chirps one of them. "You're the best!"

"I know," I reply with a small smile.

"We did our hair like Sol Jones!" exclaims the other, tugging at her floral braids. "Everybody at school does but we did it first!"

Enobaria shoots me a glance and I struggle to suppress laughter.

An ugly woman with dirty blonde hair walks in and smiles brightly at me.

"You must be Rosie," I say, feeling less nervous with every passing moment.

"I am," she says, smiling. "I just put on some tea. Would you like any?"

"Sure," I reply.

One of the twin girls stands in front of Enobaria and shrilly asks, "Can I see your teeth?"

Enobaria indulges the child and bares her fangs. I never knew her to be so good with kids. It makes me feel a pang of regret and rage over the fact that, if I ever have any, they will be with a woman I barely know instead of the woman I love.

We walk into the kitchen. This house seems to have only two rooms, not including the small entrance. I do not understand the sensations inside of me as I look around at what my mother sent me away from.

"Why did you not go to the Academy?" I ask Balsam.

"I think everybody in the family knew you stood the best chance in the world," he said.

"That's not a very detailed answer," I say. "How much older than me are you?"

"Six years," Balsam answers. That uncomfortable sensation hits me again. "I was already old enough to drop out of school and work at the quarry to help out. You were young and…" He takes a deep breath. "You were the extra mouth to feed, to tell the truth, without dad. But the Academy is really the ticket to an _actual_ good life. A peacekeeper or a victor."

"Or dead," I say, thinking of Cato and the others I watched burn on a pyre.

"This is a really grim topic," says Rosie, pouring the tea into chipped cups. "Are you excited to see Sol Jones soon? Oh! And the wedding. I should've asked about the wedding."

"She's planning it," I cover. "I'm no good at that kind of thing. We talk every night on the phone and I… well, I'm… I'm looking forward to seeing her."

I know I sound too cold; I have a good deal of warming up to do before I see Foxy again. The truth is, I think about her frequently, but I spend time with no one but other victors who understand the reality of the situation. These people saw the story the Capitol wove. The star-crossed lovers.

"That's so sweet," Rosie replies, her umber eyes twinkling. "You two are perfect together. And how you stood up for her even against your own District was so beautiful."

"Yeah," I reply, detaching from this plane of existence. I feel my sword colliding with Cato's spine and struggle to pull myself back to reality. "She's a… she's good."

They continue this mundane conversation and make me feel even more and more like someone on the outside looking in. I do not belong among ordinary people and every exchange of words makes that clearer and clearer.

I leave after finally reuniting with my family feeling sick to my stomach.

Once we reach the truck, I turn to Enobaria. "I don't think I'll ever go back."

"Why not?" she inquires, not sounding as surprised as I thought she would.

"Not because of your vague danger. Because we're not from the same world and I… I dunno. I'd just rather be around other victors," I say, trying to sound casual.

"You don't belong in their world."

"I… I f-feel… I _am_ …"

Enobaria summarizes my confused, nameless feelings by saying, "Your heart is a void and in that void is a mirror. You look inside of yourself and see only loathing and horror. You feel indifference to yourself and everyone else, and that has shut you out from the real world. You live in a world of ghosts, held prisoner by your nightmares."

"Shit, Enobaria," is all I can say, terrified by those poetic words.

"They tell you that winning the Hunger Games is a dream, but nobody mentions that nightmares are dreams too," Enobaria says. "I should have failed you and let you go live a cozy life as a peacekeeper in District One. But I'm just as selfish and indifferent as you."

"I guess we live in a world of ghosts together," I croak.

She closes her eyes when she replies, "I guess."

We say no more during our lengthy drive back to the Victor's Village.

[X]

Foxy calls me on a rainy day. I feel a rush of _something_ when I hear her voice on the other line, but cannot quite put my finger on it. Excitement, I think, but mostly nerves and sickness. Guilt? Guilt for being involved with Enobaria while we are engaged? I have no clue.

 _"_ _I just thought it would be—appropr—I—I—do you think I should wear gloves with my wedding dress?"_ she asks.

I know she must be nervous, but it still is one of the most awkward things I have ever heard. Unfortunately, although I am less mousy and anxious, I am just as awkward as her. "I honestly don't care. Makes you less susceptible to poisoning if you wear them. An ironic death if there ever was one."

Her high, light voice sounds befuddled when she asks, _"Susceptible to poisoning…?"_

"Yeah." I feel my cheeks heat up and want to rip them off. "I thought you were the smart one. Any idiot doesn't just put poison in a drink. They coat the outside of the glass or the outside of a bouquet or any other kind of surface you'd touch and the poison goes through your skin."

She titters. _"That seems elaborate."_

I do not help myself but saying, "It seems like something you'd know. You didn't call me to ask about gloves. I might not be the smart one but I'm not stupid either."

 _"_ _I just called to see if… if you're ostracized or something for winning with me."_

The answer _could_ be yes. I know that people whisper about me and that my District is not impressed by the love story. Yet, no one has hassled me over it.

"Not really," I decide to say. "People are too scared of me to question my life choices."

 _"_ _Are you happy then?"_

I say without a second thought, "I'm never happy. Happiness is for the weak."

 _"_ _Oh. Good chat. Bye!"_

The phone disconnects. What a nerd. Am I a nerd too? I bury my face in my hands.

Shortly after, we share one more phone conversation, and, before I know it, I am scheduled to go to the Capitol for wedding preparations.

[X]

On a clear night after a week of rain, a few days before I am to go to the Capitol, I wake up in an empty bed. I sit straight up and stare at the vacant space next to me. The moon is at its apex and there is no excuse for Enobaria to just— _and_ I'm tightening a robe around myself and clomping down the stairs and walking outside barefoot when I see the lights in the trees.

Lanterns. One bright one or two dimmer ones.

I follow the illumination like a signal and freeze in place once I reach the thicket. Enobaria, fully dressed and in her fiercest posture, standing across from a far more frightening Lyme. The beloved middle-aged victor never paid me any mind, and I have never said a word to her in my life.

At the moment, Enobaria looks like she would envy that distinction.

She hisses through her teeth to the stoic Lyme, "I'm going to tell you exactly what I told Shepherd and Aber—" She suddenly pivots and the light of her lantern almost blinds me. " _Clove_ , go back in the house, you are horrible at sneaking and worse at eavesdropping."

"Why are you out in the woods in the middle of the night meeting with—?"

She hisses, " _Clove_."

I swallow my anxiety and act defiant. "It just seems like a bad idea."

"So is minding my business, Conium!" Enobaria hisses, saliva spraying into the cold night air.

I walk forward, despite my fear. Enobaria does not look _demanding_ or _angry_ like she tends to when she yells. She looks _scared_.

"If I can handle the Games, I can handle whatever this is." I do not bother looking at Enobaria because I know she is too stubborn; I make eye contact with the older woman.

"Maybe the kid is right," says Lyme slowly, shooting a glare at Enobaria before turning to me. "Clove, have you noticed anything different these past months?"

"Everything looks different to a victor. That's nothing—"

Lyme snaps, "Hold your tongue for once, little girl. I mean anything different in the lives of _other people_ in Panem."

"No. Should I have?"

Lyme sighs, briefly looking defeated, her hopes apparently dashed. "You and Sol Jones did something irrevocable and powerful. Something that is going to start a war, and I intend to win it."

"I don't want to start a war. I want what they promised me."

"That's why I went to Enobaria before you. She knows that those promises all are lies and you, little girl, have yet to learn the extent of the cruel deception."

"I want nothing to do with your war and I am not a little girl."

Lyme's expression sours and I feel a tingle of fear. I use my training to beat it back and calm my racing heartbeat.

"That's unfortunate," she coldly says, our eyes locked, "because you're the heart of this revolution and you have no choice but to choose a side."

At first, I do not know what to think or say and so I settle for, "Goodnight," and run back through the trees, cold dew slick on my bare feet.

I say nothing of it and neither does Enobaria.

[X]

In the Capitol, I stand in a room with my stylist. He is not the same one from the Games and so I make a point not to learn his name. Not that I cared about the name of my old one either. These Capitol people mean _nothing_ to me.

He garbs me in a very extravagant, diamond-studded, long dress made almost entirely of white lace save for the slender white slip beneath the lace over my bosom, midsection and hips. I do not even pretend to like it, but I tolerate the marks for alterations.

I am getting married. I will have to wear a dress. I suck it up.

When I am done and my bright green stylist releases me, I see a messy Foxy in her street clothes. She smiles at me and weakly waves. I give a swift wave back.

Satin Athens shrilly announces, "Time to go to your events!"

I roll my eyes and turn to Enobaria. "Are you coming?"

"Unfortunately, I am booked," she replies. She then turns to Foxy. "Keep Clove in line, will you?" orders Enobaria and Foxy seems about to faint at the very idea.

I cannot help but smirk, and turn to face my fiancée.

"I'm going to be _really_ difficult, just for you," I add with a wink. Then I nudge her with my elbow. "You know I'm messing with you, right? I will be on… behavior."

"You mean best behavior?"

I smoothly retort, "I know what I said, Foxy," with a wicked smirk.

Enobaria leaves without another word. Cordelia Shepherd glances between me and Foxy.

"And I'm doing absolutely anything that isn't planning a wedding," she says. "Probably a daytime bar crawl."

She follows my girlfriend out and I am left with two Capitol escorts and my fiancée.

[X]

As we walk through the Capitol, I see that every single person on the street wears flowers of some sort. A few have tattoos of some red blossom I do not recognize.

"What do you know? You _did_ start a fashion trend," I remark to Foxy.

"It's not bad," sheepishly says Foxy. "I didn't think…"

"That it would catch on?" I snort. "Of course it did. This is the _Capitol_. They just _love_ trivializing the Games and picking stupid trends."

"Right," whispers Foxy, blushing as red as her hair.

She was sexier when she was stabbing Glimmer in the neck and making out with me in the Arena. Tiny, shy little Foxy makes me wonder how I fell head over heels. I know she still gives me a feeling of electricity when those ice blue eyes make contact with mine, but beyond that, I feel like our love was an illusion. A hallucination brought on by adrenaline and hormones.

"So," Satin Athens interrupts, "we're off to meet with your wedding planner!"

"I want to do the cake first," says Foxy, before adding in a hushed tone, "if that's okay."

"You almost were bold. Almost." I wink at her. She squints at me.

"We can do the cake first," chimes Satin Athens. "I'm _sure_ Nerva will be happy to comply!"

"Nerva is such a sweetheart!" adds Foxy's escort. I am making a point not to learn her name.

We walk through the Capitol. The breadth of colors almost impresses me; it looks nothing like the worn and monochrome city I come from, and the people are much more colorful than anyone in District Two. The escorts chatter, pointing out different parts of the city like tour guides. I pay them no mind as I drink in the flowers, the pictures of _me_ , the two children sparring with plastic swords while their parents sit on park benches.

"You two will be living here soon," says Satin Athens. "You can get a lovely, _expensive_ apartment and—oh—and you can get on a list to get _puppies_!"

And I cannot help but sarcastically ask in my absolute _best_ Capitol accent, "But what if we want _kitties_ , Satin?"

She misses the mockery and replies, "You can get both!"

Foxy looks hurt, and I have no idea why. Maybe she does not want kitties.

"Don't you have a cat?" I whisper to her.

"Yeah," she says, looking at me as if I grew a second head.

I decide to ignore it and pay attention to the scenery again, and, after passing a gigantic fountain, we at last reach a shop called _Nerva's Nuptials._

"Nerva Maxwell is the _best_ of the _best_ in weddings and she was hired for you two's! I only wish she did _mine_ ," says Foxy's escort, flipping her pink hair and holding the door open.

The moment we walk inside, a very petite woman tattooed with those red flowers from head to toe rushes to us, embraces Foxy and kisses both of her flushed cheeks, then lunges for me. I dodge and glower until she backs off.

"I have everything laid out for you two," eagerly says Nerva. "A number of vendors will be presenting their ideas and you two need only judge them. I've been spending _weeks_ just getting ready for all of this. The moment President Snow himself contacted me—oh—I could barely _breathe_ from excitement. The _star-crossed lovers_! I can't believe it!"

She ushers us into an ugly, incredibly-pink sitting room. I hear voices and shuffling from another room and wonder if she keeps slaves or something.

"We have vendors here to compete for your affections just like you competed for your happily ever after together," chirps Nerva, grinning widely at us. Foxy gives a soft, small smile in return, while I keep my expression fierce.

"Let the Wedding Games begin," Satin Athens jokes. I see Foxy's frown and want to punch my District's escort for making light of something so serious.

First, as Foxy requested, the bakers display their cakes. The photographs all seem to be of white, tiered structures with various patterns of equally pallid roses. We taste chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and other, stranger flavors, including one I find disgusting called _mango_.

A powder blue man walks out and taps the screen to show the picture of his finished product, and he sets the two plates in front of me and Foxy.

"I have for the Capitol's beautiful darlings," says the final vendor, "a red velvet cake with cheesecake frosting."

The picture is of a towering white cake with immaculate roses and colorless renditions of that flower everyone has tattooed on them. The vendor bows and walks back into the waiting room.

It does not stand out much compared to the others, but once I cut into the slice of cake on my plate, I see the hue of blood. It seems to be the most suitable cake for a Hunger Games wedding.

"I like the red velvet," I declare, seeing already that my fiancée will be too wimpy to make any decisions today. "It summarizes our relationship better than the others. We'll take it."

Foxy just nods, because her mouth is full.

Nerva claps her hands and grins. "And now we continue on to _flowers_. Very important. I think roses are a given, as well as prairie-fire, but we have options for bouquets and styles that you two can decide upon."

I think I might die of boredom today.

[X]

"Foxy and I want to do an activity together," I announce as soon as we escape the shop. A cake, a bouquet, plates, a caterer…

It was _horrible_. I sincerely hope I never have to plan a wedding again.

Satin furrows her brow. "An… activity?"

"A date," I curtly explain. "We want to go on a date together."

"It will have to be chaperoned, of course," says Foxy's escort. "But we would never stop such an adorable and sweet little outing!"

Satin Athens croons, hands clasped together, "What do you two want to do?"

I exchange a glance with Foxy. She shrugs. I shrug back.

"What is there to do here?" I ask, glancing around at the colorful city block. "We're not from the Capitol, remember?"

"We should go to Galen Park," Foxy's escort chimes. "It's so beautiful this time of year."

Satin Athens gushes, "Oh, it _is_. My boyfriend took me there a few weeks ago for a picnic."

"Oh!" Foxy's escort exclaims. "You _must_ tell me all about it while we let the star-crossed lovers have some together-time!"

They take us to a large park with trees so wide and tall that it seems secluded and far away from the concrete jungle around us. I try to take it all in at once but cannot. Instead, I glance at pieces that snatch my attention.

Satin Athens says, "You two should take a walk. Valentina and I will watch you from here."

I turn to Foxy. She reaches to hold my hand and I pretend not to see. We do remain side by side, however, as we walk over the cobblestones.

"We have a lot of getting to know each other," says Foxy and I nod.

"Yeah. I mean, you know way more about me than most people."

"All of Panem knows those things now," Foxy whispers and I realize she speaks the truth. Those conversations we held that seemed personal were broadcast across the nation.

"Then I guess we have to dig deeper or something," says Clove. "What don't you know?"

"What's your favorite color?" asks Foxy.

"Red," I say, studying her closely.

"I like blue." She smiles faintly. "I guess our stylists aren't total idiots."

"So…"

"We don't…" Foxy freezes, afraid, but composes herself. "We don't have a choice but I still… I still choose you."

"That's…" I suddenly feel flustered. "That's sweet of you."

Panicked, Foxy hastily says, "I shouldn't've—I should've kept my mouth shut about that. I just was thinking today that it would be better if I chose you because then I'd feel like I had a choice."

"So, you really wish you weren't with me that bad? I mean, I know the alternative to becoming the star-crossed lovers is dying, but…"

"N-no. If it were…" Foxy wipes her palms on her sundress. "If it were a choice between marrying you and dying I…"

I start laughing; I cannot help it.

"It's okay," I say, smirking with a shrug and light roll of my eyes. "You get so worked up. I think we can agree that we were about to die for each other and that…"

"We were about to die to spite the people who made us have to kill instead of love."

I hate that she is right. "Some of the best things are done out of spite," I decide to say.

"Yeah." Foxy nods. "Back to—back to falling in love with the power of small talk. The… the weather is nice here. It's very sunny."

I laugh again. "You're sickeningly cute. I mean, skittish and shy isn't usually my type, but I find you kinda endearing. And you're sexy when stabbing girls in the neck to save my life."

She knits her brow and I wonder if she looks like that when angry. Something about the twist of her lip makes me think I offended her somehow.

"That guy sells ice cream!" Foxy exclaims, changing the subject, and, as it is the loudest I have ever heard her speak, I pivot and stride across the park to the dessert stand. A board with photographs of different novelties sits beside the very colorful man in a floral print suit.

"You two are the star-crossed lovers," he breathlessly says, his yellow eyes widening with sheer joy. " _The_ star-crossed lovers."

"Yep," I cavalierly reply, and then I turn to Foxy. "What kind of ice cream do you want?"

She faintly smiles and points at a picture of a pink bunny on a stick with candy eyes. I order it for her, since she seems too timid to do it for herself, and get myself a plain popsicle with red and yellow coloring. The man quickly gets to work and hands them to us.

"Would—would you two mind taking a picture with me?" he pleads, grinning.

"We _would_ mind," I say, sliding my arm around Foxy and walking away.

"It wouldn't have been a hassle to let that guy take a picture with us," she softly says. "It would've been nice, actually. And you—you—you could've been nicer to Satin earlier when you made fun of her about kitties. It's not… you're not being nice today."

"I'm not nice," I coldly state. "And if you _cared_ so much, you could've spoken up before we walked away, right? Or defended Satin Athens earlier. Right. I'm sick of these Capitol people seeing us as trophies or playthings."

"We're celebrities to them," she whispers, sounding too passionate for something silly. "And maybe we would be like them if we weren't raised in the Districts. Maybe our biggest worries would be birthday parties and the best moment of our lives would be meeting victors."

I cock an eyebrow. What on Earth is her problem?

"Don't sympathize with these people."

"We'll live here soon," she whispers.

"That doesn't mean we have to assimilate," I snap, and that shuts her up. "We can still be loyal to where we come from no matter where we're forced to live. Won't you miss Five?"

"Not Five. I'll miss my brother and Cordelia, though." She looks crestfallen and I groan.

Out of the corner of my mouth I grumble, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's okay. You're you and I fell in love with you." It sounds forced. I do not like that.

I release her and turn to face her. "We also don't have to be in love just because everybody says so. We can admit that a few days in the Arena doesn't exactly mean a lifetime of marital bliss."

Foxy chews on her lower lip. "Yeah."

"This date isn't going well, is it?" I ask, shaking my head.

"Not really," she quietly admits. "But it's the best date I've ever been on."

I lick my lips and inquire, "Have you ever been on a date?"

"No," she softly says, averting her ice blue eyes.

We both laugh.

"Neither have I," I earnestly say. "That might be the only thing we have in common."

She rubs her lips together and squints at the cloudless cyan sky.

I do not know what to make of it.

[X]

Weeks after the trip to the Capitol, on the morn of my Victory Tour, Foxy will soon arrive by train. The cameras will be fixated on us both to show our reunion to Panem. It should be… interesting.

Starting at sunrise, Enobaria and I jog through District Two. We do not have time to clean up before we arrive at her home and see peacekeepers outside.

The two of us exchange a glance that does not give me any answers.

I walk into Enobaria's house and see the clean, tidy, out-of-place peacekeepers. But I do not put two and two together until I see unease in Enobaria's eyes. She rarely looks anything but confident, much less anxious, and so I know something must be amiss.

"President Snow," graciously says Enobaria, "it is an honor."

I turn to my left and see a frail old man standing in front of the bookshelf in my house, studying my trinkets. He turns to us and his smile makes my skin crawl.

"Miss Whitethorn, I'm here for your… whatever you may call her. I attempted to find her in her own home but had no such luck. Miss Conium, Why don't we speak somewhere more _private_?" he says and I reluctantly follow him to the study, a room neither I nor Enobaria have ever used.

Without invitation, I sit down across from him. He gives me that smile again.

"I have a problem," says President Snow once we settle in place. "A problem that began with your abysmally poor decisions during the finale of the Hunger Games. Cato, protecting Miss Jones, the _berries_ … Need I go on?"

I insist, "I was in love— _am_ in love."

"Do not lie to me, Miss Conium. I do not buy the act, even if the Capitol is convinced. It certainly does not help your cause that you live with a woman other than your fiancée. Your relationship with Miss Whitethorn is… inappropriate, to say the least."

"My relationship with Enobaria is—"

His eyes flash. "Romantic. You cannot have her anymore. She has other _love_ interests who are not as forbidden as a girl years her junior who is _engaged_ to another."

The way he says _love_ confuses me. It sounds mocking and more than a little bit intimidating.

"So, you have a problem because you have two victors."

"Yes. The proper course of action would have been to blow one of you to bits, but Seneca Crane decided that the _people's_ demands for their lovers to both survive were more important than the very _purpose_ of the Games. But, unfortunately, here you are. Can you guess where he is?"

I nod. Executed. Unsurprising. I knew President Snow was unhappy about the sudden break in the _one_ official rule of the Hunger Games, and that he knew my display was not love but loathing for the Capitol and desire to make them pay.

"Have you talked to Fox—Sol—about this?" I demand, unable to stem my protective tone.

He looks about to laugh but holds back. "You _do_ care about her. That gives me something to work with, at least."

"Something to work with? If you're so unhappy, why don't you just kill me? Be a _man_ and chop my head off on live television."

I do not unhinge him in the slightest. That makes him the most terrifying person I have ever met. I cannot scare him. I cannot fight him. I cannot even wipe the small smile off his wrinkled face.

President Snow slickly says, "And create a martyr? No. As you of course know, the Victory Tour takes you through every district, and _in_ almost every district, whispers of rebellion hide. There have been small strikes and acts of defiance, because you and Miss Jones have created a spark that _will_ engulf Panem and raze it to the ground if we do not do something."

"Rebellion?" I hope I hide my thoughts of Lyme and Enobaria whispering in the woods. "A war. They're gonna use me and Foxy to start a war."

"Yes, my dear." He clasps his hands on the table. "If we do not stop it."

" _I_ will stop them myself. _I_ will end the rebellion and then you can leave Fox— _Sol_ —out of this. She's not strong enough." I mean it wholeheartedly. I want nothing more than to snuff out this alleged rebellion before it begins. All I want is my prize and my life of luxury; I do not want to fight Lyme's war or Snow's war or anyone else's.

"Miss Jones is strong enough to openly defy the Capitol," President Snow smoothly says.

"I'll shut her up, okay? I'll keep her on track," I fiercely state, certain I can do it.

"I am glad we are on the same page. During your Victory Tour, you will reassure the districts that you are madly in love with Miss Jones and remind them that the Hunger Games gave you not only your life and a crown but your dear soulmate."

I accept that challenge with vigor. "I'll convince them."

President Snow's smile becomes mocking as he orders, "Aim higher."

" _How_ do I _aim higher_?" I snarl against my best interests, glowering.

He just smiles at me again, wholly unafraid of my glare.

"Convince _me_."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

At the beginning of my Victory Tour, I sit on the train facing both Cordelia and Septima. They summoned me for a 'team meeting' and I could not be more terrified.

Cordelia explains with a haphazard wave of her hand. "They will, of course, be filming your reunion. It needs to be perfect. Septima is my Capitol example of our target audience, mostly no offense."

"Mostly none taken," chimes my stylist, grinning with her pearly white teeth.

Cordelia begins, "Okay, when you see Clove you are going to…?"

"Kiss her?" I squeak, already panicked.

" _No_!" snaps Cordelia and I flinch. Septima glares at my mentor for it. "You are going to run to her and jump into her arms and _then_ kiss her." She turns to my stylist. "Sounds good?"

Septima sharply nods. "Very romantic."

I nervously ask, "What if she doesn't catch me?"

"She will catch you," says Cordelia, rolling her eyes. "Just run from far enough away that she'll have time to figure it out and react. Alright, Septima, should she entirely ignore the cameras or mention the viewers?"

"Mention the viewers," says Septima. "We all want to be a part of your love story."

We go on like this for some time, mostly practicing my facial expressions.

If I was not already afraid, I certainly am now.

[X]

Once the train stops, I look out of the window and see a humongous crowd at the train station. I know that Clove will be very close, presumably in the ideal position for all of these people to look at us. I _hate_ it when anyone notices me, much less the entirety of Panem.

I walk outside, escorted by two silent peacekeepers. As I suspected, Clove stands between Enobaria and Brutus, waiting for me.

As soon as I catch sight of her, I run as slowly as I can stand to, hoping desperately that Clove will catch on and catch me. She stares at me and I take a huge breath before I jump. She easily catches me and spins me around, our lips grazing coldly against each other. When she sets me down, I brush stray locks of hair from my face and turn to the cameras and crowd.

"Sorry. We forgot about you guys for a moment," I say, faintly smiling.

People politely laugh. I doubt we would get such a fanatic reception in Five, or any district other than One or Two. Everyone seems to be from here, and everyone seems to view us as celebrities just as much as the Capitol does. How could Clove be so callous in response to that ice cream man when her own district sees her the same way?

"What do you have to say to your true love," croons Clove's escort, whom I believe to be named Satin Athens, or something along those lines.

"Clove," hisses Enobaria, discreetly nudging her mentee, "say something romantic."

My fiancée looks up at me and blurts out, "Was your daddy a baker? Because those buns are hot," and I start laughing. I cannot help it. The crowd, again, laughs with us.

 _We all want to be a part of your love story._

A love story that is a lie.

[X]

The camera crews get countless outdoor shots of Clove and I kissing and savoring our reunion over the backdrop of District 2. I recognize much of it from many Victory Tours in the past; her district wins more than all the others put together. We at last board the train and begin the several-day journey to District Twelve.

Of course we must start in the place I dread most of all. I will have to face those who deserved a victor. Who deserved Katniss Everdeen but received _me_ instead.

That night, I toss and turn and finally get up to go find Clove. I do not know why I would seek someone so callous for comfort, but she _is_ the only person who can understand _exactly_ what I am going through. I knock on her door and she does not wake, therefore I creep inside and approach her bed. The moment I touch her arm, I fall down onto the floor avoiding a knife jabbing at my face.

I gasp out, "Why do you sleep with a knife?"

Clove hisses, "Why are you so sneaky?"

Licking my lips, I push myself to my feet.

"I… I was scared." My cheeks heat up and I feel grateful for the darkness.

"You can stay in here if you need to," says Clove. "Me and my knife can protect you from the monsters and spiders and nightmares."

"Do you have them too?" I blurt out.

Clove waits too long to respond, belying her next words. "No."

I lie down beside her. We do not touch and I wonder why. Of course _this_ would keep me up in exchange for my memories of Katniss Everdeen in the other room.

"Do you sleep this far apart from Enobaria?" I ask, hating myself for saying anything.

"No. We… sleep pretty close together, but I figured you wanted space," says Clove, and I wonder if she wants that space too.

"Our wedding, huh?" I stammer softly.

Clove hums under her breath and says, "Yeah. It isn't far away. We just make it through this tour and… we're married. I don't know what to think of it."

"Do you ever think about our wedding night? Because—because this just makes me think about our wedding night." Foot, meet mouth.

Clove laughs and I want to crawl under the bed to hide, my cheeks hotter than the sun. "Not really, actually. Are you worried about it?"

"Yes," I whisper, almost squeaking the word. "Do you… have…" I lower my voice to an even quieter whisper, "sex," and I raise it again to say, "with Enobaria?"

Clove snorts and bursts into laughter again. She gives that slight shrug and the cocky roll of her eyes that I once upon a time in a fight to the death fell in love with.

"Yeah. So?" Pause. "We obviously don't have to do anything if you don't want to. Just because I'm sleeping with Enobaria doesn't mean that I want that from you."

"Oh." I hate that answer for some reason. "So, you'd rather have sex with her."

"That isn't what I meant," Clove says exasperatedly. "I meant that you're kind of pure and sweet and I'm not either of those things. We don't… we don't _want_ to get married yet. And if you don't want to have sex since you can't even seem to say it out loud, we don't have to."

"I mean, we can have," and I cannot stop myself from whispering, "sex."

"I want to say that what we had in the Arena was real, but the Arena wasn't real. It wasn't. Everything in there is so separate from the world that I can't even put it into words. I think our feelings and attraction were both real and I think we just need to figure out why."

"We need to figure out why people rooted for us so strongly that Seneca Crane broke the law. Then we can play on that until we're in the Capitol, alone in a house, and able to sort through this stuff. We don't have that option right now."

"Hey. I don't care if we never figure it out. We wanted each other bad and that's cool but the whole point of this conversation is that we don't need to have sex until we're both ready."

"How did you and Enobaria fall in love?"

"By accident," Clove says. "Like everybody else who's ever been in love. She was my hero growing up and she chose me to be in her tribute class. I wanted her and I guess she wanted me too because on a rugged camping trip for exposure training she invited me into her tent to get out of the cold rain and it, uh, it spiraled."

"I never loved anybody."

"Why not? You're extremely hot," says Clove softly.

"I had a little brother to take care of so I never thought about it too much, and I'm usually not noticed by people in general. You're the first person who ever kissed me." I feel like a _fool_. This girl was probably thinking about the one she _really_ wanted, the one who had _sex_ with her, while I thought she wanted _me_.

"We don't get anywhere talking about this. We never do," says Clove. "I don't think we can explain this away or understand it so I think we should shut up and kiss on cue and get through this tour so that we can figure it out on our honeymoon."

I smile at the ceiling and feel my eyelids drooping at long last.

"I'll, uh, I'll go back to my room now." I am too afraid to sleep beside her.

I want to slap her for some reason, but I never could be that bold in my wildest dreams. So I let her kiss my cheek and begin ruminating about Katniss Everdeen again as I rise from her bed and start roaming the hallways.

My thoughts drift from Katniss and Rue again when I start imagining Clove and Enobaria making out and punch the train window.

I only succeed in injuring my knuckles; the window escapes unscathed.

[X]

District Twelve looks grim, even compared to District Five. I glance around at the trainyard meant for hauling coal and then step out onto the dilapidated station. My entourage and fiancée follow and we stride through the district, towards what the mayor mentions as being the Justice Building.

A slender blonde girl about my age walks beside Mayor Undersee. She keeps shooting glances at me that make my heart race. What does she want? Why does she keep looking at me like that?

We greet a crowd forced to pretend to be happy to see us and walk up onto the stage.

Clove decides to talk about Peeta Mellark. She also decides I should talk about Katniss Everdeen. I am terrified as we walk onto the stage in the decaying district, in a grim Town Square.

A blonde girl walks forward with flowers and a plaque, the traditional gifts victors receive from the vanquished districts. She is introduced as the mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee.

"Katniss Everdeen was my best friend," she whispers as she hands me the ceremonial bouquet. "You did right by her."

I do not agree. My lips part but I have no words, so I just nod and turn to the podium. Clove already stands at it, gazing out at the crowd. I look at the families on their designated part of the stage. First, I see a family of blond boys with blue eyes and matching parents. The father looks sad, the brothers angry, the mother bitter. I then force myself to look at the tiny girl beside a sallow, tired mother. They both are as blonde as Peeta's family. Prim. Primrose. A mother Katniss never spoke of. I feel a rush of guilt when I see them.

Clove takes a deep breath and begins to speak. "I killed Peeta Mellark," she says, which I do not think is the best way to start this off. "But even if he died so early, he was brave. His announcement at the interviews was one of the bravest things I have ever seen. I think he laid the groundwork for me and Fo—Solanine—to win together. I thank him for that."

She sounds so calm, so confident. Then she turns to me and gestures at the microphone. I wobble on my feet as I walk to it.

"K-Katniss Everdeen… Katniss Everdeen…" I am horrified. Speaking. I should not have agreed to Clove's insistence. My fingers trembling, I drop the cards and they float to the floor. "Katniss Everdeen haunts my dreams every night. I think about her and her strength and her love that was more… stronger than mine. She was strong. She protected me when I needed help and she didn't ever leave me when I was hurt. She gave Rue the funeral she… the funeral she deserved but I mean they all deserved funerals but I… I couldn't save her from that sword. I should've saved her. I'm a coward who hid in the shadows when the deserving victor needed help. I'm selfish. I'm selfish and she was selfless. I'm a coward and she was brave. I needed protection and she protected others. She saved me and I didn't save her. I failed… I failed…" I gasp for breath, panicking. But I try to speak up. "I've failed so many people in my life but it hurts most that I failed her, and she should be at this podium right now, not me. I'm sorry."

I step down and turn to Primrose Everdeen, I walk to her and hand her the flowers. I pull her into my shaking arms and hug her.

And I whisper in her ear, "If you ever need anything, I'm here. I promised to keep you safe and that's the best I can do for your sister."

Tears drip from her big blue eyes. The moment I break the embrace and step back towards the podium, I see a tall boy with dark hair and the same complexion of Katniss Everdeen staring at me with smoldering eyes. He touches three fingers to his lips and raises them to the sky.

Peacekeepers respond quickly, but not quickly enough. This tired and bleak district seems as unified as they did on the recap of the Reapings when they imitate his gesture. That is when the peacekeepers—the Capitol ones who accompanied me and Clove—step into the gathering and grab the boy, dragging him away.

"GALE!" screams Primrose Everdeen as her mother grabs her and holds her tightly.

A man punches one of the peacekeepers that has the boy in his grasp. The riot begins.

I am in the steely grasp of Enobaria Whitethorn before I can react to the scene, as she drags me into the Justice Building. Madge Undersee stands, staring out of the dirty window with a hand clamped over her mouth and her eyes widened. Her father grips her shoulder. Haymitch Abernathy stands near them.

Once the door shuts, Cordelia tries to pull me away from the window but I look out and do more than hear the gunshots. Two bullets into the back of the agitator's head. Tears begin to swell in my eyes and Enobaria's grip tightens on me.

"This way," orders Haymitch Abernathy and Cordelia ushers me and Clove along with him. He leads us up into the private quarters of the mayor, down the hall, and up into an attic. I imagine he must have been here before, and perhaps considers it safe.

I hope so, at least.

Now that I am up close with Haymitch Abernathy for the first time, I notice he smells like a distillery and I slightly recoil with my nose wrinkled.

"You've really done it, sweetheart," he says to me, then turns to my cross mentor. "Delia, you're smarter than this. The—the _us_ —made decisions that didn't involve whatever that was."

"I gave her cards to follow," growls my mentor. Enobaria bares her teeth. Clove takes a few steps forward and clenches her fists for a fight. "It isn't our fault that _your_ tribute started this!"

"Everdeen was supposed to be something that shy little princess over here never can be," Haymitch slurs, glaring through his dazed eyes. "At least Everdeen does it in death, but taunting the Capitol isn't going to keep you alive and running long enough to…"

Cordelia gives Haymitch a look that shuts him up. He clenches his jaw and sloppily nods.

I dare to say what lurks in my mind. "I'd die for doing the right thing and saying the truth for once instead of the lies on the cards was the right—"

Enobaria startles me by being the one to speak. She interrupts, "There is a thin line between a martyr and a fool, Solanine Jones."

"And now you have Gale Hawthorne's life on your head," says Haymitch. "Kid was a fool, not a martyr, but you better keep the dead in mind before you do something reckless again, sweetheart."

My heart begins to race but my skin feels colder. The knot in my stomach makes me think I might vomit all over the lovely but dusty upholstery.

"Leave her alone," snaps Clove, stepping into the dim light and standing between me and Haymitch Abernathy. "You've got no business criticizing her when you showed up wasted. No business criticizing her when she did a lotta right by your tribute. You have a bone to pick, pick it with me _. I'm_ the one who screwed over your love story by killing that quaint little blond boy of yours."

"For what's it's worth, the boy _did_ love her. It wasn't an act for him." Haymitch looks at Clove and Enobaria and I do too. I see how they rotate together, swirling around the same sun and stealing glances that I know I never will get from Clove. Haymitch continues, "But that doesn't matter now. They're dead, like you two'll be dead if you keep being _morons_."

"Why do you care if we live?" Clove spits.

"Keep your nose out of where it don't belong, sweetheart," slurs Haymitch Abernathy, and he begins to walk away, adding a stagger to his step that I cannot help but notice.

"Sol, I promised Snow I—" Clove begins and Haymitch turns around, walking back to us. "I promised him that I would keep you from doing something like _that_."

Terror strikes me. I think I might faint. President Snow could kill me, kill Fission, do something just as bad as both of those things. My head spins as I war with my tongue to find the right words.

"How could you not tell me that?" I whisper, unable to sound as angry as I am.

Clove so shamelessly admits, "I didn't think you had the guts to defy anybody."

"She had enough guts to do it at the end of the Games," interjects Haymitch Abernathy. "Did he threaten anybody?"

 _Fission_. I did not stop to think about him.

"No. I don't want a rebellion. I don't want a war. I don't want any of that," Clove vehemently says, and I believe her.

"My brother…" I feel sick. "What about my brother? I have to protect him."

"We _all_ got people to protect," says Haymitch, guising his astute comment with a belch. "For such a smart girl you're real stupid."

"You have someone?" I ask, knowing talking to Haymitch is pointless but unable to suppress my curiosity.

"You gotta a hearing problem, Sola—Sola—Foxy?"

Another person who does not truly know my name. Clove certainly gave me a nickname that will stick for life.

"You do then," I whisper.

"I don't see why the fuck it matters," Haymitch slurs, slumping in his seat. "You got a brother, huh?"

"Fission."

Haymitch asks, "He Reaping age?"

"This year he turns twelve," I say.

Haymitch states, "Yeah. The odds aren't in his favor. I dunno what Clove's got but it's probably somethin'. You two are fucked."

"I appreciate your candor," I whisper and Haymitch uproariously laughs.

"Appreciate my candor," he repeats sardonically, shaking his head.

I focus on trying not to faint, not on his mockery.

He glances at Cordelia once before he stumbles down the stairs, giving a grandiose display of drunkenness.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

After we at last board the train, escaping District Twelve, I walk towards Enobaria's compartment, but she smashes her palm against my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

"Go comfort your fiancée. She needs you right now. I don't."

I _want_ to say how much _I_ need someone right now, but I turn around. In my and Foxy's relationship, I am the strong one and I know I need to suck up my own fears to take care of hers. I have no problem with it, even if I am not used to consoling people.

She sits in the dining car, staring at the floor.

"Hey," I say. "Are you, uh, doing alright, champ?"

I want to slap myself. I just called my fiancée _champ_.

When she looks up, I see her crying and want to abort the mission, but I steel myself and step towards her.

"I didn't say those things to start a war. I said them to try to feel less guilty."

"You don't need to feel guilty," I state in earnest. "I saw Twelve's death in the recap. Glimmer took you both by surprise and even you were able to kill her then, Twelve still would have died of her injuries. There was nothing different you could've done."

"I _hid_!" she shouts. I am floored by how _loudly_ she spoke. "I hid in the shadows when I should've fought! And you know what I did after she died? I filled my pockets with poison and went to find somebody else to protect me!"

Before I can think of a decent reply, she begins to hyperventilate. She clamps her hand over her mouth and shakes with the sobs and gasps for breath.

I scream, "SHEPHERD!" because I have no idea what else to do. "SHEPHERD, SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH FOXY!"

The half-drunk victor stumbles into the room.

"She's having a panic attack, you insensitive dumbass! Which," Shepherd says as she walks to Foxy and starts rubbing circles on her back, "is not that surprising, considering the fact that you kept your conversation with Snow secret and then dropped it on her at the worst possible time! Go get her some water!"

I huff and gesture at the pitcher resting on a mahogany surface. "There's water on the table."

Shepherd snarls, "Go! Get! Her! Some! Water!"

I sigh, roll my eyes and leave the room. As soon as I reach the corridor, I hear Shepherd speaking in a soothing tone, trying to talk Foxy down. If I knew how to do that, I would have done it, but no one ever taught me how.

While I fantasize about various ways to kill Cordelia Shepherd, I stop paying attention to where I am walking. Subsequently, I almost crash into Enobaria, who holds a glass of ice water.

"Give this to your fiancée."

"I can't believe you're okay with being my wingman. Also, how did you know to get that?"

"I heard you and Shepherd screaming at each other. And I know you're unhappy that I'm not having a duel with Foxy for the honor of your hand in marriage, but you can't afford to angst about not having a jealous enough girlfriend when you're caught up in the middle of a _war_."

"What war? I don't see any battlefields."

"Don't get smart with me. Give your fiancée this water and _apologize_ to her."

"I've never apologized to anybody."

"There's a first time for everything, soldier."

When she calls me that, I sigh and take the sweating glass. Academy habits die hard and my fear of Enobaria dies harder. I roll my shoulders and try to think of the right words to apologize properly without looking weak.

Upon my reentry to the dining car, I notice that Foxy still looks pale and rattled and tears drip from her puffy eyes, but she seems much calmer. Shepherd sits by her now.

"I'm sorry, Sol," I say, handing her the glass.

She smiles at me through her tears. "Thank you."

I do not get a _warm fuzzy_ or whatever people who apologize usually gain, but I do know it is in my best interest to stay on her good side. Foxy is not an intolerable person and I do still feel a strong sense of obligation towards her, just like I did in the Arena.

"It was," I continue against the strong feeling against it in my gut, "brave of you to say what you did to the people in Twelve. I know you don't ever act impulsively, even if you were acting out of emotion or whatever. You know it was risky but you did it because you thought it was right. So I don't think you're a coward and if anybody ever calls you one, I will personally stab them in the eye."

Foxy smiles a little bit, at least.

I excuse myself and go to punch pillows, missing the training dummies and bags I could take my anger out on back in District Two.

[X]

"I knew Snow was a bad sign," Enobaria says, sighing. "Perhaps I should have asked earlier."

"Whatever." Pause. "He knew about us. He knew about us just like Finnick Odair.

"Snow knows everything about every victor, and Finnick Odair was the only one who could give me decent advice on the matter."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "On _wooing ladies_ or something?"

"Shut up," snaps Enobaria, slipping into her 'trainer' demeanor. "You should know before the Victory Party. Of course, the next day is your wedding so I bet you're the only gorgeous tribute who has nothing to fear there, but... when you win, you don't belong to yourself anymore."

"I'm getting so tired of you talking in riddles."

Enobaria looks as if she mills my words over for a moment. Then, she bluntly but quietly says, "Prostitution. Finnick's many lovers are paying for the pleasure of his company."

"I don't see what that has to do with you," I lie, because I hope I am wrong. She looks at me and does not need to say another word. "You have money. Why do you need to sell yourself?"

"I don't get any of the proceeds," she coldly says. "The glorious Capitol collects that paycheck. President Snow tells me what to do and I do it."

"Why do you stand for that?" I demand, clenching my fists. "You don't let anybody push you around, even powerful people. Why would you—?"

"Out of misplaced loyalty when I was young. I wanted the glory and I thought of it as a side-effect of people adoring and fearing me at the same time. I was wrong, and after I year, I told President Snow I was quitting. He was surprisingly calm about it. He never needed to threaten me since I always was a model victor and still am. He told me it was my choice to quit, but then he told me there would eventually be someone I'd be willing to sacrifice for. Someone who would be the first to make me happy, and he said that if I ever spited him again, that joy the only person I loved gave me would become ashes in my mouth."

"Did you find that someone?"

"You, obviously. We hid it well but I knew we couldn't hide it from him. He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. For the past three years, I've…"

"For me? For me? I'd rather die than you do that for me!"

"You're not great at caring, are you? Not that I want any sympathy or misguided pity. I asked Finnick Odair how he managed to look his girlfriend in the eye when he came home, and he did a decent enough job of helping me out. I still find his company unbearable, but he has his merits."

I am still too shocked and livid to care about Finnick Odair.

"Will they want me too? And Foxy? Foxy couldn't bear something like that. We're strong, but she's not. She'd break like a twig if he _sold her_ to someone! No! I'd break that someone like a twig!"

"You are the adored star-crossed lovers that Panem can't get enough of. I also know you'll be married before the usual starting day. Maybe people will want you, but I bet they want to follow every detail of your love story much more." Enobaria caresses the side of my face. Her sharpened nails feel cold against my heated skin. "Maybe he won't break you two apart."

"Does he know about the ring?" I ask under my breath.

"Yes. I'm sure he knows everything about us. He would've let us get married, as long as we kept it private and none of my clients found out. But it was still foolish for me to give you that engagement ring."

I passionately say, "I was going to marry you in a Victor's Crown studded with diamonds, and we would train tributes together and we would swim in the quarry and I would build you a pagoda that you would hate and never use…"

Enobaria slaps me across the face and, if I had less training, I think I would have toppled onto the floor.

"Dreams like that are for children," she spits, fangs bared and eyes smoldering. "And I should've snuffed them out earlier."

I stare after her until the train suddenly halts.

Frenzy flooding my body, I jump up and run to find Foxy. If hijackers attacked this train she would be the first to go down. Shepherd and Enobaria are tough. My fiancée is not.

"Why did we stop?" I demand of Satin Athens.

"Maintenance," Satin sweetly says, batting her clearly false eyelashes.

"That's the official story?"

"Yes," Satin replies.

I say, "Only an idiot believes the official story," and continue my search for Foxy.

When I locate her, she still sits in the dining car with Cordelia.

"Shepherd, what's wrong with the train?"

"We're not in a state to make a viewer-friendly appearance in Eleven. The train is down for overnight maintenance."

"Oh," I say.

Foxy's stylist—whose name escapes me—looks up.

"Valentina and I decided this would be a prime opportunity to give you two dancing lessons."

I grimace and try not to scream.

[X]

Satin Athens puts a record on a record player. It must be some old song I have never heard before, since they presumably have an endless selection of music in the Capitol. The record plays a haunting melody with smooth but gravelly vocals that gives me goosebumps. It sounds creepy, but I step forward and go through the agonizing lessons. At least it distracts Foxy.

We pair up and our respective district escorts begin to show us several different dances. Foxy keeps stepping on my feet and I keep stifling laughter until we finally catch on and start to show _some_ promise before our wedding comes.

As we spin, I end up softly singing the lyrics to keep my steps in line.

" _I don't want to set the world on fire,_ " I murmur in tune, " _I just want to start a flame in your heart."_

Foxy notices and smirks. I have half a mind to throw her out of the window.

" _In my heart I have but one desire,"_ she breathes, her hot breath tickling my neck. " _And that one is you. No other will do."_

I cannot help but continue, " _I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim; I just want to be the one you love. And with your admission, that you feel the same, I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of. Believe me…"_

Foxy finishes under her breath, " _I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart."_  
The record stops and Satin Athens croons, "Clove! You have a _lovely_ singing voice!"

My eyes flash and my lips contort into a snarl. How _dare_ she disrespect me like that. Does she not fear my wrath as she should?

"I wasn't singing, Satin," I growl, making it clear that she will meet her doom if she continues this conversation any further.

And, of course, Satin Athens misses the hint by a mile. "Yes. You were. I heard and it was _beautiful_. Oh, was that your talent? The wedding must have overshadowed it!"

"I wasn't singing." I truly hope my glare will shut her up. "I don't sing. I fight. That's it."

Enobaria seizes the opportunity to mock me by interjecting, "She has a beautiful voice. Maybe she'll sing for all of us tonight."

I grit my teeth and glower at my mentor.

"Katniss sang to Rue," Foxy says, flooring all of us. "When Rue was dying…" Pause. "I don't know the song but it was about meadows and pillows and willows. It was a lullaby. I love lullabies."

I breathe deeply and suppress my strong emotions. When I first went to the Academy, I would softly sing myself to sleep in my cold, unfeeling bunk. The same one and only lullaby I knew, the one my mother sang me constantly. Sometimes it would wander into my head when I had nightmares in the Victor's Village, but I have not sung a word since I was thirteen or fourteen. Today is the first time since then, and I already regret it.

Coldly, I state, "People who pretend a dead person is just asleep are deluding themselves. There is no point to singing an already-decomposing corpse into the void."

Foxy's lip trembles, her eyes glassy, and I force myself to ignore it.

"Oh," she whispers.

I defend myself with, "It's true. Dead is dead. Asleep is asleep. And that girl made a mistake of getting too attached in the Hunger Games."

Shepherd blurts out, "You ever hear of glass houses, Clove?"

"What?"

"People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Means that you got into this mess by getting too attached in the Arena."

"Well, I wish I didn't. I wish I was smarter. I wish none of this would have happened and that I had just won alone like I was supposed to."

Foxy runs away crying. I do not blame her.

"Pursue her, soldier," orders Enobaria.

"Yes, sir," I lie, and I wander the corridor, locking myself in a butler's closet until the sun sets.

At last, I think I might be able to sneak off to bed, but I hear her soft sobs in her compartment and drag my feet inside. I see Foxy curled in her bed, her whole body shuddering with overwhelming sobs.

My insides twist and I do not know why.

"Foxy…" I whisper, walking in and sliding the door shut behind me. "I didn't mean what I said. I would do everything again just the same in an instant. I don't regret those berries. It would be easier, though. Don't tell me you never thought about how much easier it'd be if it was just you."

Slowly, Foxy sits up and nods. "I think it sometimes too."

"Things are complicated." I need say no more.

I sit down at the foot of Foxy's bed, still uneasy about what I plan to do in here. It will take a level of bravery that even someone as courageous as myself can barely muster. But I know that it is one thing I can do to erase all I have done to this girl.

It pains me when I ask, "Do you want to hear a lullaby?"

Foxy's eyes glitter in the moonlight as she dreamily whispers, "Yes."

I was hoping she would say no. "I've never sang for anybody before."

Foxy protests, "Enobaria seemed to know."

"She was just trying to piss me off," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. "I'd prefer if you kept this a secret. If word gets out, I will destroy you and everything and everyone you love."

"Okay," Foxy whispers. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"I only know one lullaby," I say, knowing what an idiot I am for showing anyone this. "It's one of the only things I remember about my mom. She gave me to the Academy when I was seven and I can't even remember what color her eyes were."

"Sing it, please."

My mouth feels dry. I should snap and snarl and run from this, but I look at her wide, scared blue eyes and swallow. The lullaby comes easily to me, even if I try to never lilt a single tune.

" _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep my little Foxy.  
_ _When you wake, you shall take, all the pretty little horses.  
_ _Blacks and bays, dapples and greys.  
_ _Coach and six little horses.  
_ _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep my little Foxy.  
_ _When you wake, you shall take all the pretty little horses."_

Foxy closes her eyes and faintly smiles. I watch her and wonder why she looks so beautiful in the shadows, and why I am willing to let her hear my voice.

"You have the most beautiful voice I have ever heard," she breathes in a shockingly earnest manner, eyes still shut. "Sing me that when I die, okay?"

"If no one else is around," I reply, half-teasing.

"That's good enough for me," she whispers, her voice trailing off at the end of her sentence.

And she drifts away to dreamworld while I sit awake, a restless sentinel standing vigil over my bride-to-be.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

In District Eleven, I stick to the cards. I refuse to look at Rue's family, her little sister, the people who remind me that they deserve what I gave to Primrose Everdeen.

"Rue was kind," I say at the podium. It feels cold, even though I mean it. "She left an imprint on my soul I will never forget, and, without her, I never would have been able to find my love."

I make the mistake of looking at Rue's family. Her sister looks bitterly at me, but I look away.

"Thresh had honor," says Clove. "I admire that. He spared Sol because he would not harm an innocent, and I respect that in a person. Sometimes, mercy is stronger than glory."

We accept the flowers and sit at the feast before we return to the train and move on. Clove stays with Enobaria, and I sleep alone.

In District Ten, we give a few words about courage and then discuss our love for each other and the Capitol for showing us such kindness. In District Eight, we give almost the same speech, and so forth and so forth. But, in District Two, Clove walks up to the podium and her face sobers.

"Sometimes," says Clove, "even to live is an act of courage. Even to go on is bravery. There is no way to wash away the things you have done, no way to hide from them, no excuse to give. Cato was blinded by love, and I know many speak of his weakness for it. But so was I, so was I, and you all admire me. You see, it is a good way to die in place of someone else. A noble way to die. I owe Cato my life and he will always have my respect and allegiance. You all owe him that, and you all owe Sol that as well. She may have been lovesick and pulled out those berries over it, but to die in place of one you love is the noblest of acts. Let the glory of my district partner and my ally live on."

She steps back. I have nothing to say, and she has nothing more to say.

Her words do not defy the Capitol. She solidifies our act by declaring how much she respects me for wanting to die for her. Yet, she manages to pay her respects to a person she regrets losing. I wish I could be more like her. Brave like her. But I am not.

In District One, I speak of how Glimmer made it to the end and fought like a hero. I say that she helped forge the love of myself and Clove. Meanwhile, Clove speaks of Marvel, pretending she actually had a sliver of respect for him.

At last, we reach the Capitol, and the agonizing tour ends.

[X]

I run my hands along the smooth, soothing fabric of my midnight blue gown. Clove and I are dressed as night and day again. Crystals on my dress sparkle like stars, while her bodice gemstones in shades of pinks, yellows, oranges and reds glisten like the sunrise.

The party is held in the banquet room of President Snow's mansion. I have never seen anything like it in my life. The combined scents of perfume, food and sweaty guests create a jarring effect that could kill. I study the rainbow of people, all dyed strange colors, all with flowers in their hair or flower tattoos or flower themed gowns. But the one thing that draws my attention wholeheartedly is the tables laden with food. The waterfall of chocolate draws my attention first, and certainly not the one of wine. Clove remains protectively by my side while I fill a cute light red plate, for which I am grateful.

After a few minutes of Clove doing the talking, she turns to me.

Clove clears her throat and says, "One, you need to pace yourself or you're going to puke on your sparkly shoes. Two, I'm already running out of generic things to say so maybe you should field a couple questions."

I nod and set down my plate. "Okay, okay. Thanks for covering for me."

For good measure, I kiss her cheek. And smear some sauce on it. I feel my cheeks heat up and my stomach begins to churn from the embarrassment. Clove just laughs and wipes it off with the back of her satin glove.

"You're cute, Foxy," she smoothly remarks, smirking and rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders and filling me with that buzzing confusion I constantly feel around her.

"If I eat it quickly I don't feel as guilty," I say before realizing what an idiot I am. Clove and I just need to keep our conversation light and quaint. "I think my brother will love the wedding cake."

"I met my brother. Did I tell you that?"

"No," I say, not pointing out that we never talk about more than the weather or if we slept well (we never do).

"Yeah. My mom died, apparently, but he's got a wife and two kids. They're emaciated little things and they were… really excited to see me. They had flowers in their hair like you."

"Like everyone in this room," I say. Even the men have flowers in their lapels. "I—that was insensitive. Will they come to the wedding?"

"No. I don't think I'll ever see them again. But I met them, and that's all that matters."

"Did you do the other stuff you planned? Like swimming in that Quarry."

"Yeah. I swam there. It was fun."

"Did you build the pagoda?"

"Nah. I was going to build it for my wedding. That wedding isn't happening, though. This one is." Clove does not bother to point out that she is happy. I doubt she ever will be. But we are in this together and I hope she at least feels the same way about that.

"It would be romantic of you to build a pagoda for the person you love."

"Maybe." Clove shrugs. "Are those chocolate strawberries any good?"

[X]

I dance with countless people, and we chitchat and their hands touch my skin. Once or twice I glance at Clove and she looks… frightened. I have no clue why. Perhaps it has something to do with that conversation with President Snow she neglected to tell me about.

At last, I end up in the arms of a man who introduces himself as Plutarch Heavensbee. He apparently is the new head gamemaker, but I try not to think about that while he dances with me.

"So, you're the Flower Girl," he says, "although I guess you won't be playing that role in the wedding."

I force myself to laugh. "I think people bid for roles in the wedding. Cordelia and Enobaria will be Clove and mine's bridesmaids, but everybody else paid for their positions."

"You have a brother, don't you?" he remarks and I instantly take it as a threat, even if I know it probably is good-natured.

"Yes. Fission. He's coming to the wedding but he won't be in the party," I nervously say, becoming sick from either the spinning or the conversation.

"I hope to meet him," says Plutarch Heavensbee, and then he passes me into the arms of another, but not before tucking something into my midnight blue glove.

I wriggle away from my latest partner and pull a single prairie fire flower out.

Why would he give me that?

[X]

Fission shows up after the party. Even though I am exhausted, I pull him into my arms and squeeze him in a tight hug. I think of District Twelve, then Plutarch Heavensbee, and feel an agonizing sensation in my gut. He might be reaped. He might be reaped because of me.

I ruffle his hair and step back.

"Are you excited?" I say, smiling. "I bet you'll love the cake, but the ceremony will probably be pretty boring."

He starts to babble about home and other old, unhappy far off things.

I best forget them, because I am never going back, save for the future Reaping Days. As of tomorrow, I will be a Capitol citizen.

It breaks my heart.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

Today is my wedding day.

I imagined it more than once, after I fell head over heels for my teacher. After I won the Games, I would come home victorious and we would wed on a pagoda in the lovely yard behind my house in the Victor's Village. I would have my Victor's Crown studded with diamonds and clasp a veil to it. In a plain white dress, I would walk down that aisle and kiss her so hard her sharp teeth would crush against my soft lips.

But that wedding would never happen. Instead, I will be standing at an altar in a crowded room in the Capitol. There will be a thousand roses, satin drapes, exquisite chairs and ice sculptures. All of the things I never wanted. A young woman so unlike Enobaria will walk down the long aisle and she will be too shy to kiss me until the officiant ordered it.

If I did such weak things as that, I would cry this morning.

While my prep team readies me, Enobaria is subjected to the whims of her own. She has to look almost as flawless as I do, according to these vapid wastes of space.

They leave us alone once Enobaria and I are dressed and made-up, which takes painful, silent hours. Slowly, I turn to my mentor.

"Can I ask you something?" I inquire, shifting my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Sure," Enobaria replies, poking at her sharp crimson manicure.

"How do I get out of this tonight?" I inquire and she just laughs.

"Your prep team will be there," she remarks, which sounds like a horrid invasion of my privacy. Yuck.

Without thinking, I state firmly, "I don't think we'll have sex."

"Why would I care?" Enobaria asks, although her voice quavers on the last syllable.

I skeptically inquire, sitting down and smoothing out my lacy white gown, "Are you not jealous at all?"

Enobaria turns her attention from her nails to me. "Do you want me to be?"

"I…" Pause. "Yes."

"Well, I don't want you to be jealous of the people _I_ have to sleep with because I'm a victor. So, I will not let myself be jealous of you and Solanine. Your wife will be good to you. She's a sweet, fragile little thing and so I know you'll be safe… at least from her. That's enough for me to stomach this deplorable event."

"My wife?" I start crumbling and struggle to rein my emotions in. " _You_ were supposed to be my wife!" I cry out.

Enobaria bites gently down on her lip, and I see the pain cross her face, even if she quickly conceals it. She sets her hand on my shoulder.

"Sometimes the person you want to be with isn't the person you end up with. That's how life works. That's how it works for everyone in the Capitol and every district."

"I'm getting sick of your wisdom."

"Good. Maybe that'll help you get over me."

"Do you want me to get over you?"

"This isn't about want, Clove. The last time what I wanted in my life mattered was the day I volunteered for the Games. Yes, I want you, and I want to run away with you to the ruins of District 13. But I need you to fix the problem you and Solanine Jones caused. I need you to survive. I need to be practical and understand that I'm not making the decisions here. So, go out there, stand at that altar, and knock 'em dead." Pause. "Not literally."

"Not literally? You need to clarify that?"

"Yeah." Enobaria smirks. "With you I do."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

For some reason, I just feel irreparably broken.

[X]

They hold the wedding in the center of the Capitol, a gigantic park, at night. Huge lights illuminate the decorations and cameras. Rows and rows of pews have been set up with rose petals lining the aisle. White satin and white roses knit the benches together. In the middle of the park, a humongous platform stands. White stairs rise, and humongous bunches of white roses line the railing.

I stand beside Enobaria, who serves as my mother. Seeing as I do not have one, and have few other people close to me, she is best suited. Stylists are bridesmaids and important people who bid high prices to be involved in our wedding parade ahead, baffling me.

Lastly, I take a deep breath and walk in my horrible high heels hooked to the elbow of Enobaria, to resounding applause, with cameras intruding on us. We climb the white stairs and stand on the platform near the officiant.

Suddenly, the lights go out. I begin to panic and reach for a knife that I do not have.

But then I see her dress. She _glows_. She glows like the sun. It is hands down the most breathtaking thing I have seen in my entire life, and I think the Capitol agrees. They applauded everyone, but they are stunned into silence as Foxy walks down the aisle, President Snow leading her to give her away to me. I cannot even think about how much that disturbs me, because she _glows_.

When she at last climbs to the top of the platforms, the lights turn on again, but she still glimmers every time a shadow dares to touch her.

She _glows_.

"Hi," she whispers.

And I breathe back, "Hi."

She _glows_.


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N:_** _There's a bit of an odd POV chronology in this chapter. I wanted the reception in Clove's POV and the honeymoon in Foxface's POV, so it's much like in the chapter before the Victory Tour when Foxface left out the date and it was in detail in Clove's POV. I hope it's not too weird or confusing. Thank you for reading and I hope you're enjoying the show._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

I don't bother unpacking the suitcase Valentina Nyxeris put together for me. Clove throws it onto the bed in an impressive but expected display of strength and we both ignore it.

We stand in a huge penthouse room at an isolated and luxurious resort in the heart of the Capitol. It is apparently where they keep their fake beach and their best spas, if the disastrous duo of Valentina and Satin are to be believed. The room does look like a palace.

Before the reception, immediately after the wedding, Septima and my prep team stole me away and changed my clothes into a glowing short dress. It was as beautiful as my wedding gown. After the reception, which went surprisingly well, they again kidnapped and unclothed me, slipping me into a sheer, jeweled cream dress. Clove's is almost identical but it is black. We are always garbed as opposites, and maybe I find that fitting.

It ended so quickly that it barely feels real.

Receptions are common in Five, so I partially knew what to expect. I suppose the Victory Tour was intended to serve that purpose, and there are numerous parties being held around the city in our name that are not official. But now we are on a honeymoon, something that we absolutely do not have in Five. No one can afford to do much except spend some time moving in together.

Clove picks up a remote from the bedside table, brushes the rose petals off the bed and sits down. She turns on the television and, unsurprisingly, the only thing on every fancy Capitol channel is coverage of our wedding.

"Were you expecting any variety?"

"Ugh. No. But sometimes, very occasionally, I have an optimistic streak."

A commercial comes on before we can see or hear any commentary. It is a sensual and dramatic display showing off glow in the dark hair dye. Clove and I both shake with stifled laughter until we notice each other and laugh openly.

"That was fast," I remark, shaking my head. "I thought it'd take at least a day for them to start capitalizing on my wedding dress." I blush. "Pun not intended."

Clove stretches and remarks, "That's the only decent Capitol product I've ever seen."

"Are you…?"

"I'm not kidding. I mean, if we're going to fit in here, we might as well dye our hair glow in the dark."

"I want purple."

"I'll take blue then. Oh, I'm going to get seriously badass tattoos too. None of those stupid golden flowers. I'm going to get… uh, I'm not sure, but something on my face or neck."

"Why?"

"Because then everybody would see my incredible, awe-inspiring pain-tolerance and not fuck with me."

"The whole of Panem did see the Games. You were pretty incredible and awe-inspiring while tolerating pain, writhing on a river bank…"

"There was no writhing involved, Solanine Conium." _Conium_. I find it unreal to be called that. "It was the moment you fell in love with me, remember?"

I _did_ tell Caesar that.

"Maybe I have a thing for writhing." Then I blush, because she smirks, noticing the sexual overtones of my statement before I do.

Changing the subject from the Games, Clove comments, "You did look amazing in that dress." High praise from her. "I remembered something when you walked down the aisle."

"Remembered what?"

"Why you stood out to me. Why I fell for you against all better judgment. Something like that."

Clove looks uncomfortable about discussing her feelings, as I would expect. I try not to make it worse for her, and so I attempt to ease the discomfort by touching two fingertips under her chin and lifting her lips to mine.

After six seconds the kiss breaks and we gasp briefly for breath before Clove dives into another, crushing our lips together.

Her lips are nightlock; her lips are strawberry punch.

Clove huskily remarks, "That was bold of you. I didn't know you had that kind of guts."

"I'm full of surprises," I whisper.

We linger there until the tension becomes unbearable. Clove grabs me by the waist and pulls me onto her lap. I fall there awkwardly and feel my cheeks heat up. As she presses her palm against the small of my back, I take in a sharp breath.

Her hands can be soft; her hands can bruise.

We kiss again and again. I feel less and less self-conscious with each one. Her lips touch my neck and my shoulders involuntarily shoot up at the tickling sensation.

Maybe we will have a real wedding night. For some reason, that no longer terrifies me. Maybe it is the heat of the moment addling my brain.

We progress to the point when my dress almost comes off, but when I bite down on Clove's lower lip, she abruptly stands up. I fall onto the bed from the force of her movements.

I take in deep, gasping breaths that make me shudder.

"I'm going to…" Clove does not finish her excuse, but she walks into the lavish bathroom.

I just nod.

What else am I supposed to do?

It is not like I am brave enough to claim the girl I love.

I sigh softly to myself. Maybe I feel relieved. We don't love each other, right? This honeymoon is just for show.

I repeat that in my head until I fall asleep atop the covers still in my jeweled dress.

[X]

I wake up in the bed and look over to the side and see Clove sleeping on the sofa. Slowly, I rise and my feet touch the cold marble floor. I start digging through the suitcase Valentina Nyxeris packed for me. I find a swimsuit that is far too revealing but is my only option and a loose sundress that perhaps could go over it. The shoes are all heels, to my dismay.

"Clove," I say softly after laying my outfit out on the comforter. I take care not to wake her harshly or touch her. "Clove. Clove."

Finally, her eyes flutter open and, thankfully, she does not attack me on instinct.

"Honeymoon Day One, huh?" Clove remarks, sitting up and stretching. Her bones pop, a sickening sound.

"Yeah," I awkwardly reply. I can see in her eyes that neither of us has forgotten last night.

"What do you want to do?" asks Clove.

"We could check out the fake beach," I whisper, terrified she will not like my idea.

"Not bad," Clove comments, standing up. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

"I don't either," I say quietly. This could not possibly be more awkward. Maybe we should split up, but that would not look good to the Capitol.

We get ready and head down the magnificent glass elevator. It gives an incredible view of a dark blue artificial waterfall. I feel thirsty looking at it.

"Those rocks are from Two." A mundane statement wholly unlike Clove. Yes, the awkward level impossibly just went up another notch.

"That's interesting." I try to sound enthusiastic, but for whose benefit? Not Clove's. From her scowl, I can tell she is displeased by our uncomfortable and forced small talk.

After we get off the elevator, we make our way down past gawking Capitolians and follow the signs to the underground beach.

It is as spectacular as the rest of this resort. The sky is bright blue and looks real. Wind blows in from the gentle waves but it is still swelteringly hot in here. I close my eyes for a moment, slipping out of my shoes and scrunching my toes up to feel the warm sand. A seagull cries above and my eyes flash back open. I look for it, but do not see an animal in sight. The sounds must be artificial.

"It's beautiful," I softly say, my lips parted in utter wonder.

"It's nothing to write home about." Clove smirks and shrugs one shoulder and rolls her eyes, that little habit I fell in love with what feels like a thousand years ago. Except in my nightmares; in those, it feels like the Games never ended.

I walk with my new wife to the center of the beach and I lay out a towel for myself. Clove does not do the same; she just sits on the sand, then lies down. I remove my shimmery sundress cover-up and lie down on my towel. Clove is bored within a few seconds and starts doing oblique crunches, her back sandy.

I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face.

We remain here for a while, before Clove suddenly picks me up, making me very quietly scream, and then she runs to the water, wading to hip height and dropping me into the waves. I stand, the mud slippery beneath my feet.

I begin to slide and Clove catches me in her strong arms.

"I can't swim," I frantically breathe, eyes wide.

"Then I'll have to teach you," says Clove.

"How'd you learn?"

"Abandoned Quarries. Very dangerous, but very fun in summer."

We spend the rest of the day in the water, and I can sort of swim by the end of the day.

[X]

That night, we again sleep separately. Despite that, when I wake up screaming, Clove appears by my side. I am drenched in cold sweat. She touches my arm.

"Will you…" I nervously ask, "will you stay here with me?"

"If that's what you want." She pointedly shrugs and crawls into the bed next to me, accidentally kneeing my hip in the dark. "Why is this supposed to help you?"

I have to think for a moment before I whisper, "I just don't want to be alone.

Clove brusquely says, "You won't be."

I believe her.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

The red velvet wedding cake is delicious, more so than I remember. And the strawberry punch is to die for. I drink far too much of it.

I stand near the refreshments surrounded by multicolored people garbed in so many flowers they look like they are trying to masquerade as gardens. Foxy garners most of the Capitol attention and she looks predictably flustered. Even _I_ will begrudgingly admit it is cuter than a box of kittens.

Victors are in attendance. I expected that much, but none of them talk to me, until one Enobaria has a low opinion of comes up to me. Cashmere Cross.

I do _not_ want to talk to Cashmere, but she stands before me with perfect posture and a winning smile of a Capitol model. Perhaps I would sleep with her, but I do not like the smell of her perfume of the look of her skimpy, shimmering rose gold dress.

"Congratulations," Cashmere purrs, fake eyelashes fluttering with overexaggerated emotion. I think I might retch.

"Yeah," is my only blunt reply.

"I enjoyed watching you and Solanine in the Games. It was a beautiful story."

"Everybody in this room did."

Cashmere briefly glances over her shoulder, then turns back to me. " _Almost_ everybody."

I instantly know who she means: President Snow. He probably loathed every second of our alliance, even back before we pulled the stunt with the nightlock berries.

"Why did you come to talk to me?" I demand.

"You're alone at your own wedding reception. I am a lady and I have the responsibility of making you feel beautiful and important."

"Foxy is busy," I say, looking her up and down. I try to make it clear that I am far from interested in this conversation but she either ignores or does not catch the hint.

"She is. No wonder, since she's so pretty. Shame she doesn't know it, since at least in your eyes she has beauty worth dying for."

"She's humble. A lotta people could learn to value that trait." So, maybe I am being hypocritical by saying that but I am certainly humbler than Cashmere Cross. "But I won't disagree on how hot she is. Her appearance was good for morale." I then add, "But she's more than that too."

I do not know exactly what she is, but she is _something_.

"Not to the Capitol. They will never see more than her face and body. Perhaps you should remain by her side more often." Cashmere sets her hand on my arm and I shrug it off. "You're so good at protecting her, aren't you?"

"She can take care of herself." I know she is implying what Enobaria told me but I try not to think about it. I just channel all the hatred into the woman in front of me.

"I watched the Games. She can't defend herself."

Snidely, I snarl, "I guess you must've been topping off your drink when she stabbed your tribute to death."

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow twitches. To my satisfaction, my comment is enough to make her walk away, her shining gold high heels clicking on the stone floor. I scowl and grab another slice of cake. Being out of the Academy has _some_ benefits; now they let me have dessert.

I walk towards the clump of Victors over by the bar. They all seem attached to it save for Finnick Odair, but he leans over the crystal counter at the moment after spending the entire night with various ladies and men. Johanna and Haymitch drink. Beetee looks deep in discussion with Wiress, winner of a boring Games I had to watch a thousand times due to the unique but flawed career pack strategy.

Johanna turns to me. "Choose your poison."

I only know of one drink, so I suggest, "Neutral spirits?"

They all laugh and I clench my fists, homicidal fantasies briefly dancing across my mind.

"That will probably kill you," remarks Johanna. "Good choice."

I wait for her to grab something from the many bottles of liquor or put in an order with the bartender, but she pulls out a light silver flask instead.

"What's that supposed to be?" I snap.

"The Capitol only has _fancy_ booze." She seizes a cup from behind the counter and pours out the clear liquid.

I take it and easily down it despite the burning. The Victors stare at me and I think I have impressed them, not that I need to. None of them are important.

"What?" I casually inquire. "I know my contraband."

Laughter. It feels surprisingly good. I am losing my mind and sense of dignity. At least the liquor makes me feel a bit better.

Running with it to avoid the Capitolians, I grin wickedly. They might not be the breed I spent time with back in Two, but they have an odd charm about them. I prefer this gaggle over Cashmere, at least.

"So, you have a speech ready?" Beetee inquires, adjusting his glasses.

"I'm winging it," I reply honestly. I hope it will not go awry because my head hurts and the floor has begun to spin. "I can say a lot of good stuff about her."

That much is true. I may have to lie about the romance of the ages, but I do care about Foxy, and even if I cannot remember it, I know I must have felt something incredibly strong for her in the Games. Strong enough to give up everything I ever dreamed of.

"Looking forward to the wedding night?" Finnick Odair teases with a debonair smile.

A rush of cold suddenly rushes over me; my blood turns to ice water when I think about it. I am loyal. I have defined myself as powerful, loyal and dangerous. If I have sex with Foxy, I lose one of those three things that are my only identity. She is scared about it too and I would never want to make her even _more_ frightened of everything in the world.

"Yeah, of course," I force myself to say. I wonder if they see right through it.

They do not argue with me.

[X]

Later, I stand with a champagne glass raised for a toast. Foxy blushes beside me.

I never considered myself to be a good speaker. I have always shown my thoughts and intentions through my actions, not my words. Yet, I did put a good deal of time into my toast so as not to look like a dumb Academy brute in front of Panem.

When it comes time, I stand and everyone glues their eyes to me.

"Foxy, I've fought for you. I've literally fought for your love. And I want you to know that I will fight to keep it, and that I'd absolutely fight a huge animal or huge mugger or huge anything to protect you. You're just so tiny and need someone to stab anyone who tries to harm you. When I first saw you at the Tribute Parade, you looked right at me. Right into my eyes. Nobody had done that to me in ages. I immediately decided I'd kill you first. But you were good at the Games and I never got the chance. I don't really know when I started looking at you as more than a disposable ally, but I did. Don't ever think I don't want you."

After the toast, she kisses me. It makes me feel warm, or maybe it is just the drink.

We go through a number of comments.

Finally, President Snow concludes the formal part of the reception by simply declaring, "To Panem's most beloved newlyweds, I wish only the best."

He raises a glass.

It gives me goosebumps.

[X]

On the third day of our honeymoon, I wake up next to Foxy again. No sex. After she bit my lip on our wedding night and I thought about fidelity and honor, I cannot bring myself to do it.

Yesterday, we went to the beach again. I hate the idea of going back, but it was reasonably decent to get her ice cream and teach her more swimming and tell her the gory stories about all the kids who died swimming in the quarries, getting stuck on abandoned equipment or diving into too-shallow water. We ate a second lavish dinner and I tried not to think about my nieces and their starving bodies. At night, we watched television and did not say much.

We did not change in the same room. It would be a disgrace between wives in any other situation. Things are weird. We were forced to marry. We do not know if we are in love and I go back and forth on it nonstop.

When Foxy wakes up and stumbles out of bed, I look for a moment too long at her sheer seafoam babydoll nightgown. That does not count as cheating, I decide.

"I think we should go somewhere other than the beach today," Foxy pipes up, sounding incredibly nervous about making a suggestion.

"You read my mind," I say, attempting to ease her discomfort a little bit. "So, if not the beach, I say we go to the casino."

"We don't have money," timidly comments Foxy.

"There's a reason for that; we're the star crossed lovers and they'll give us anything we want for free." See, even the worst things have their perks. Am I becoming an optimist?

"Okay," Foxy softly chimes. "People we see us. More than at the beach. M-maybe we should hold hands for the photographers."

I hesitate. That sounds dreadful on one hand, but, on the other, I certainly do not mind touching her, even in a way that shows weakness.

"I don't see why not," I state, giving a half shrug. If it pleases her and President Snow, I suppose I have no choice.

After we get ready for the day, I grab her hand with a powerful grip. We stride together to the elevator. I have to half-drag her since she has such smaller steps than mine. As the elevator slides downwards, Foxy still wondrously gazes at the artificial waterfall. I don't get it.

"Why do you stare at all this stuff like it's your first time?" I coolly ask and her eyelashes flutter. "Don't get me wrong. You're as cute as a box of kittens. I'm just curious."

Foxy smiles. "You even make compliments so scary. I've never heard anybody make kittens sound terrifying."

"It's what I'm best at." I wink as the elevator comes to a stop.

We walk out, hand in hand again, which I try not to be too conscious of. Whenever I doubt it, I think of the strong scent of blood and roses and those eyes on me, and it makes my grip on Foxy never slip or falter.

We walk through the crowded resort, turning heads the whole way, and I see a few flashes from the cameras. We enter the casino. When I locate the kiosk, the woman gives us countless free chips to play with. I turn to Foxy. _I told you so_ , my eyes say.

The very first place I decide to drag Foxy to is roulette. She leans over the side of the game, looking lovely, and I sit down with a severe expression. I watch the board spin before losing. The chips mean nothing to me, so I bet again.

A waitress taps on my shoulder. "Care for a drink?" asks the scantily clad woman. She is beautiful somewhere underneath the garish colors and bright floral tattoos.

"What do you have?" I ask.

"They all are named after whatever is most popular," she warbles, grinning at us. "May I recommend a Nightlock Heart?"

Foxy nervously speaks up. "What is exactly is in that?"

"Rum, blackberry puree, simple syrup and lemno juice," recites the woman with a wide smile.

Foxy shoots me a glance, waiting for me to lead.

"Yeah. We'll have two," I say.

After a few more rounds of roulette, we try the Nightlock Heart, which I find too fruity but Foxy enjoys.

"And I usually hate alcohol," she says as I order her a second.

I walk around with her and try every strange and exciting game I see. The bright colors of the slot machines draw me in, to my shame. Blackjack should be more my speed. Foxy has two more Nightlock Hearts while she watches me play.

Afterwards, we have another elaborate dinner and return to our room.

"I hate eating like we do," Foxy slurs. She is wasted. And quite easily. My wife is a lightweight. "I hate it. It's, like, it's like all the people are starving to death and we're—we're eating _this_."

I stand up and help Foxy to sit down on the bed, since she looks about to fall over.

"We're Victors. That's what they promised us and I say we enjoy it." That is what I always tell myself; it is my dream that I worked for. "We went through Hell and back to get the privilege to eat fancy meals and watch television and swim at artificial beaches. Keep it in mind."

"Clove," slurs Foxy, rubbing her face. "I worry about it because I think I'd follow you to Hell but I don't know if you'd… if you'd take me back."

"Of course I would," I say earnestly. "I _did_ , didn't I? We left that Arena together, and I wanted you to get out of it so bad that I almost gave up this dream. I almost gave up my life. Don't worry about it. It's not worth your time."

Foxy loosely nods. As I begin to walk away, "Clove," she pipes up, catching my attention. "Clove please come here."

I step over to her. She might need someone to hold her hair. I find it shocking no one saw that fiery red in the Arena and killed her.

"Clove, do you… do you… do you think I'm pretty?"

I nod. "Yeah. Of course I do."

I wonder if she thinks all of this every day, if she is so uncertain of herself when I always thought she had a quiet power within. Maybe that timidity stems from self-doubt, not silent cleverness. Maybe a little Column A and a little Column B.

Foxy closes her eyes and then opens them. "Who made the room spin?"

"Three Nightlock Hearts," I explain, sitting beside her. I better make sure she is settled before I can watch television and perhaps do some palm strikes and cardio.

Then she sits up and messily kisses me. I begin to kiss her back before I catch myself and recoil.

"You don't think I'm pretty," whispers Foxy.

"I think you're pretty, but you're somehow drunk on three fruity drinks and you need to go to sleep. If you still want to do this tomorrow, I'd be very open to it."

I help her into the blankets.

"Sing to me," begs Foxy.

I start to say no before rubbing my lips together. She looks so pitifully that I cannot help myself.

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep, my little Foxy  
_ _When you wake, you shall take, all the pretty little horses  
_ _Blacks and bays, dapples and greys, coach and six little horses  
_ _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry…_

I stop as soon as she goes to sleep. Before I get up, I check to make sure she is still breathing, and then I go into my workout.

[X]

The next day, I try to avoid Foxy's hangover.

"Can you get me medicine?" she pleads softly, lying on the floor, her face pressed against the cool marble.

"Yeah." I get up, hoping that leaving her will not be _too_ dangerous, and I head down to one of the many resort stores. Unsurprisingly, they have a pill for such sickness, and I manage to bring it to my wife. She feels better within twenty minutes.

We still spend the rest of the day in the room; neither of us wants to go out today.

[X]

That night, we sit on the sofa, in front of more Capitol television—I still have no idea how they never run out of shows—and Foxy leans against me.

"You have really strong arms," Foxy says, and then she sits up and away from me, and clamps both of her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.

I teasingly flex my muscles. "I know it," I purr.

"Do you think…" she says, quiet as a mouse. "Do you think…" Her cheeks redden. "Do you think you could wrap one around me. Make a… make a _move_ , I think that's what it's called."

I smirk.

"I can make a move." I fake yawning and wrap my arm over her while her shoulders shake with silent giggles. She leans back against me. "Do you remember last night?"

"Yes," Foxy says quietly. "And—I—I meant it last night."

She sits up on her knees and studies my face. I turn my head and lower my arm. More than once I have noticed how much height and muscle I have on her from my years at the Academy and her years of starvation, but it seems more noticeable now.

"I'm okay with it, if you are," I say. Enobaria told me to fall for Foxy, even if I know it is not what she truly wants. She would forgive me, and I should be able to forgive myself.

Foxy just nods. I forcefully stand and easily sweep her up into my arms. I think I might be doing this right as I carry her to the bed. Nobody ever did that for me and I never did that for anybody, but she looks like she likes it, as much as Foxy can.

I lay her down on the white satin, and press my lips against hers.

We get as carried away as we like from there.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

 ** _ENOBARIA_**

* * *

The night before Clove's honeymoon ends, I open a rose-scented invitation.

It looks beautiful on the surface, perhaps even tempting to untrained eyes. It reminds me of the Games when I was about seven or eight. These shimmering, gorgeous frogs clung to the tropical trees beneath the rainforest canopy, and the cameras would fixate on them during transitional scenes. Yet, once the tributes tried to touch them, the brutal poison removed the jewel-hued mask.

 _Miss Enobaria Whitethorn,_

 _The Capitol cordially invites you to the special televised event focused on your honorable tribute, Mrs. Clove Conium, and requests your presence in the two weeks following to proudly represent your district._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Coriolanus Snow_

I stare at the crisp white stationary for a few moments and then crumple it up. Of course, I have no choice but to board that train and do as I am told, but I like to pretend I have some power.

That night, I fight in the woods with Lyme for the third time since the 74th Annual Hunger Games. A cold wind rustles through the trees and chills my fingers.

Lyme sternly says, "This change comes on the wings of a nightmare, I know, but we must—"

"I don't care if Clove accidentally gave the impoverished something to fight for. _I_ don't have any reason to join your fight—which you won't win—and _I_ look out for _myself_."

In bitter response, Lyme states, "You want a reason to fight with us? Go to the Academy Archives and look up the file of your most recent victor."

I want to snap and snarl, but she piques my curiosity. Therefore, after we part ways and leave the woods, I walk from the Victor's Village to the Academy and use my instructor's key three times. Once at the precipice, once at the Headmaster's office, and lastly on the vault door leading to the expansive archives.

Some say the archives represent order, and that the purpose of District 2 is to bring order to the other districts. Some say the archives represent the trust the Capitol places in us.

I say the archives are a dusty basement with little significance.

We are not order. We are evil men in the Garden of Paradise.

It takes me mere seconds to find the files of the tributes. They are well-lit and well-kept in comparison to the rest of the books, folders and papers.

I pick up Clove's and open it. Shock hits me like a slug to the face; I thought it would be the same one we found her family in. But, instead, this one has several papers about her Games, her status in the Capitol, a ranking on a scale of which I have never heard.

Most of this information is obvious. I am almost bored once I reach a page that grabs my attention and tightly holds it.

 _Successful Subject #7 in Operation Asphodel. Awaiting orders._

What in the blazes was _that_ supposed to mean?

And why would Lyme send me to it?

* * *

 ** _FOXFACE_**

* * *

Clove and I move into our new apartment once our honeymoon ends.

I still am stunned by the fact that Clove and I are living this. It takes me a few days to grasp that I never pictured the life of a victor; at most I pictured surviving the Games. Therefore, this all feels like a strange dream.

"Clove," I say while we watch two avoxes unpack boxes of belongings we have never owned until today, "am I just having a weird dream while I die? Am I being ripped apart by those wolf mutts and this is just an escape from the pain?"

And she cavalierly replies, "Only if we're having the same dream at the same time."

"Good," I say.

With a small smirk, Clove ruthlessly adds, "But we could _both_ be in the middle of getting ripped apart by wolf mutts so…"

My cheeks light aflame. Her smirk broadens.

"Shall we examine the bedroom?" Clove inquires.

I blush fiercer, but follow her nonetheless. We lay eyes on a room already set up for us, like something out of a magazine page.

Floral printed sheets coat the bed, beautiful and classic. Soft green pillowcases cover a thousand plush pillows.

"Do you want to share the bed with me?" I whisper, heart pounding in my throat. It takes all of the nerve in me to ask.

Clove shrugs one shoulder and smirks. "I don't see why not. It'll help your nightmares, right?"

I faintly smile. "Yes."

"It's settled then. We're claiming our marriage bed." Clove flops down on the mattress, soft green pillows erupting and scattering on the floor.

I laugh and smile and pretend that everything is okay.

[X]

In the morning, Clove makes coffee and sits drinking it in her black robe—the one with the least amount of frills she could find—and I decide to wash off the sweat of my nightmares in the brand new apartment shower.

It takes all of five seconds for me to burn myself, freeze myself, and begin to panic.

"Clove!" I cry out. "I don't think I'll ever figure out this shower!"

She does not reply to me and I wonder if I should shout again. It makes me nervous even thinking about calling for my wife more than once. Thankfully, before my anxiety wholly consumes my body, Clove walks into the bathroom.

Then, the anxiety quickly surges back when she steps into it, fully clothed. She does not seem to care that the water drenches her when she properly adjusts the knobs. I smell the scent of lavender as the steam rises from the smooth, stone shower floor.

"Do—do you—do you think the floor is imported from District 2?" I stammer, trying to find words. Clove is _very_ visible now through her thin layer of clothes.

Calmly, Clove just smiles and kisses me on my open mouth. My heart flutters in my past and a jolt of lightning surges through my veins.

Her lips are nightlock; her lips are sweet coffee.

She presses her palm against the small of my back, melding us beneath the waterfall above.

Her hands can heal; her hands can bruise.

We make out in the shower for a thousand years.

[X]

One night in bed, I ask Clove, "How do you fall asleep? How?"

"Just close your eyes and don't let yourself open them until morning," says Clove, demonstrating beautifully. "It's that easy."

"Is it really so easy for you?" I anxiously whisper, hot embarrassment flooding my veins.

"Yes," she smoothly replies, but I do not think I believe her. She wakes too often drenched in cold sweat; too often when I lie awake studying the dancing shadows on the ceiling I hear her talk helplessly in her sleep about Cato.

"I guess I'm sleepy," I breathe, getting my hopes up.

"Sleepy is such a dumb word." Clove laughs. "Kinda cute. You're cute."

"Thank you," I whisper, my lips twitching.

"Just close your eyes and wait for the sun to come up. That's what I do and it works."

I edge closer to her and the warmth I feel. Near her muscular arms, I feel vaguely safe, comforted, warm, protected from the world that wants to devour me.

She wraps an arm around me, so cavalierly that it seems as if she does not care.

I have nightmares anyway, but at least I sleep.

[X]

In the morning, I decide to explore the Capitol for the first time. I am afraid to do it alone, but Clove went to try out the gyms nearby, so I am left alone. I do grab and call Valentina Nyxeris's phone number and she eagerly agrees to accompany me.

"You need all new clothes," she says. I expected no less from her. "As the current _favorite_ celebrity of the Capitol, you really must keep up with the fashion of the times."

Silently, I nod, cheeks lightly flushed.

Valentina calls a limousine and we travel together to the Fashion District.

My feet begin to ache after mere minutes walking around and standing in the stifling, boring shops. I cannot find a single thing I like until we end up in a small store Valentina calls underrated.

I walk around and gaze at the muted tones of every outfit. It is the first place I have gone today that did not blind me with sparkles. I walk around, examining the plain but oddly cut clothes. Valentina begins jabbering away with the plump girl at the front desk.

At the back of the shop, my eyes fixate on a beautiful piece.

The designer made the cloak from leaves. Fake ones, but they look real. Flowers and leaves and it reminds me of the Arena in a sick way. Maybe the outfit is inspired by the 74th Hunger Games. My stomach starts to twist and I feel the sudden sensation of drowning.

Swiftly, I spin away from it and grab onto a clothing rack to catch my breath and attempt to calm myself down.

Eventually, I end up buying a case of artificial daisies meant to be clipped in hair, and overhear a disconcerting conversation about fabric shortages held between two whining boutique workers.

I cannot escape the Games, or the damage I caused by playing them.

[X]

Later that day, humming a wordless Capitol pop song in front of the pure white vanity, I liberate my silky ginger hair from its tight, restrictive bun and crack open the box of fabric flowers. Slowly and absentmindedly, I pin daisies in my hair while gazing into the mirror.

Home from the gym, "Are those real?" asks Clove, a toothbrush lazily hanging from her lips, clenched loosely in place by her teeth.

"No," I softly reply, smoothing my fiery locks. "They're fabric. I guess they're the last ones in the Capitol too; the woman at the boutique said she was saving them for a celebrity."

Clove takes her toothbrush out of her mouth and holds it.

"I didn't know the Capitol had a such thing as _last ones_."

"There's a fabric shortage. There were some fires in District Eight, apparently." I do not believe that because I am not a fool, but I am never going to voice my suspicions. Clove and I barely escaped the wrath of the Capitol and we cannot afford to make a stir.

She kisses my neck, distracting me from the troubling times. I turn around and she slides down, seizing me by the waist and whipping me around to straddle her. She presses our lips tightly against each other and my head spins out of control.

Her lips are nightlock; her lips are cherry chocolates.

Her hands can heal; her hands can bruise.

I sink into her.

After our tryst together, we lie in bed. The moonbeam rays illuminate her back, making a pattern like the keys on a piano.

I gaze at her until I fall asleep.

Dreamless.

Beautiful, sweet and dreamless.

[X]

The next morning, "I'm going to that tech expo all the billboards keep flashing about," I say and Clove just nods into her lime green coffee mug.

She cavalierly says, "I'm not. That sounds like literally the most boring thing in this city. I'll be at the gym again. Only thing worth doing here." Pause. "Except you." She winks and I blush redder than my hair.

I softly giggle and she cockily grins. This is another morning, another perfect morning, another day in paradise. It terrifies me because I know this kind of thing cannot last. I know that the Capitol is a horrid trap worse than the Arena—worse because it lulls you into a sense of false security. Therefore, I feel afraid when Clove finishes her coffee, grabs her water bottle and walks out of the apartment to go work out for hours.

I stare at my hands for the longest time. At last, I stand up and open the window.

The news on the television babbles about mundane nonsense. I know there must be something _real_ to report on, but I hope that there is not.

As I stand in the smoggy sunlight, I feel something strange in the wind.

It has not left me alone since the Games. I think of Cordelia's call to Haymitch Abernathy, and District Twelve, and my glowing wedding dress, and the petrifying fear that has not stopped wracking my body since I first heard Valentina Nyxeris call out my name.

With a deep breath, I pour myself a glass of water. It tastes sour. I bite into a berry. It tastes sour when it should be sweet.

Shuddering, I abandon thoughts of eating or drinking and dress myself for the expo.

[X]

I must admit that the Capitol has its perks. In District Five, I never would be able to see something as incredible as this. It makes me wonder if I would have been better off living in District Three. My heart thunders from excitement as I gaze at every single attraction.

New, flashy, technology that claims to be the face of the future draws me in like flies to honey. I buy—or receive for free—every useless but brilliant trinket I lay hands on.

After hours of blissful wandering, as I enter a magnificent display of fancy robots meant for household help, I see a familiar face. The victor holds various files and seems intently focused on a tablet. Hesitantly, I step towards him and hope he will notice me without me having to say anything.

Finally, Beetee Latier looks up.

"Solanine," he says, a smile spreading across his wrinkled face.

"Beetee," I reply with a warm grin.

"It's lovely to see you. What brings you here?" Beetee inquires, walking closer to me. We now stand a comfortable distance apart, close enough that I see a strange concern in his dark eyes.

"I live nearby and I've always loved stuff like this." I flash another smile, but this one is uneasy and I think he recognizes that. "The Capitol is really wonderful. Did they invite you as a celebrity guest?"

"Partially." He adjusts his glasses, leaving me anxious and sweating for the brief silent seconds. "I've designed four of the exhibits today, as well as many, many items that the Capitol deeply appreciates. I tend to be at the important tech events."

"Oh, wow. I didn't know victors had jobs other than just… being victors."

"Well, they made hasty use of my talents after the Games. I created a number of inventions that they've appreciated. The Capitol has always been extremely fond of my brain."

"You must have changed a lot about the Capitol, then," I say.

"Yes." Beetee nods. "Change is a powerful thing, isn't it? The most powerful force there is, in my eyes, at least."

"I—uh—I guess?" I try to smile again. It gets harder each time. "I'm a bit scared of technology, but I'm really often attracted to things that scare me."

"Like Clove," states Beetee and I nod. I know he probably does not believe in our romance, but I did want her in that Arena. I wanted her enough to kill myself so she could live. "But I'm sure you're tired of talking about her by now."

"I'm… I really don't like talking about anything." I blush and suddenly want to vanish into thin air, never to return.

Beetee gazes at me wistfully for a few beats. He at last, softly, hesitantly, sadly explains, "You remind me so much of my daughter," he says and I cock my head to the side. "She died a few years ago. I guess I notice her mannerisms more in other people now."

"What happened to her?" I whisper without thinking.

"She was in an accident," he says, clearing his throat. "She and her mother both."

"I'm sorry," I say, aware at once that it could not have been an accident. There are no accidents in Panem.

"Let me show you around my finest exhibit."

He gestures for me to follow and I do without another word.

* * *

 ** _CLOVE_**

* * *

I wake up two weeks after my honeymoon with a weird, twisting sensation in my gut. Immediately, I realize I am forgetting something. Shortly after, I remember what it is; today is the day of the television special. The one about us acclimating to the Capitol.

"It never is going to end, is it? They're going to parade us around as much as possible until we become boring."

Foxy turns to me. "I know. At least we get to see Enobaria and Cordelia."

That sounds bittersweet to me. I want to see Enobaria again, but, at the same time, I know she will only remind me of a life I could have had. A life I think about too often.

"Yeah. They're cool, especially compared to the Capitol crowd. The people at the gym preening in the mirror and asking for my autograph make me pretty sick," I admit, thinking of several separate incidents where I rolled my eyes on the treadmill.

"I'm sure this will go really well," softly says Foxy, and I understand the meaning behind her words. She worries that we might still fail at convincing the districts.

I know I should feel the same way, but lately, I've decided that it is somebody else's job to care. I always had that attitude in my past but it faded in the Arena. Meeting Foxy, killing Cato, ready to take that nightlock. I did care. I cared about not wanting to be a piece in the Capitol's games. But now, now that I have the best life of any Victor, I want to shrug it off.

Pointedly yawning and stretching, I get ready to be handed—kicking and screaming—to my grotesque prep team, and then to my obnoxious stylist.

I end up wearing a tightly tailored short white dress with a slit in the middle of my cleavage and cropped sleeves. My white heels I must wear with it make me want to pick up one and bludgeon everyone in a two mile radius to death with it. Foxy looks like the sun wearing a sparkling, shimmering, rippling short golden dress and subtle gold shoes.

"You look beautiful," says Foxy, smiling at me.

"Right back at ya," I say with a wink.

Why am I so bad at this?

Ugh.

[X]

In Panem, the most grievous crime is knowing too much.

So, I do not ask any questions about the crossed-out seafood options on the restaurant menu. My intuition tells me it has absolutely nothing to do with storms and much more to do with the girl sitting in front of me, playing with her fiery hair.

We wait for our former mentors. They are to meet us for lunch before we begin the Post-Honeymoon Special for which everyone awaits with bated breath.

Cordelia bluntly waves at me when she arrives and takes an unsteady seat beside Foxy.

Behind me, "Hi," says Enobaria and I feel my heart flutter. "I suppose we're not too late."

"We haven't ordered yet," I say, offering a graciously and slightly sexy smile.

"I need to use the restroom before we meet up with the cameras and producer," says Enobaria, and she shoots me a knowing glance.

"I should too," I purr, fluidly rising.

Foxy just smiles and nods and stays sitting down with her cup of blonde coffee while Enobaria and I get up and nonchalantly walk to the gaudy neon bathroom.

I study her closely and it hits me that the worst feeling in the world is when you know that you both love each other but still you just can't be together.

"Is there a reason you took me here?" I ask.

"You need to know something before the live broadcast starts. There's a change coming," whispers Enobaria. "I don't know when or where or how, but I think this post-honeymoon special might be more important than any cute romantic propaganda piece you've done before. You need to look like you love the Capitol, not just Solanine. You need to be one of them, and they'll forgive you. And maybe… maybe the change won't happen."

"Do you… do you think there's going to be a war?" I whisper.

Enobaria sarcastically snarls, "No. I think we're going to make daisy chains and talk about our fucking feelings."

I grumble, "Fine, fine. I knew already I had to make it good."

"Make. It. Good." Enobaria runs the sink and waves for us to leave the bathroom.

We finish lunch with Cordelia and Foxy before the swam of cameramen and producers shows up, jabbering about this and that, trying to grab my attention. Foxy looks utterly panicked; I try and fail to pay attention.

Finally, a bright green woman shakes my head and introducers herself as the executive producer of the project.

She cheerily explains, "This is all a live broadcast to the Capitol and Districts, but don't worry about messing up. I'm sure everyone will forgive a little embarrassing moment. It's more important for us to capture you in the most vivid detail without an ounce of editing. And _don't_ ask to turn the cameras off. My people are under strict instructions to film every solitary second, warts and all."

"What warts?" Foxy whispers in my ear.

I shrug and raise my eyebrows. She subtly grimaces.

"Where to first, lovelies?" the green producer inquires, grinning at us both.

"Well," I state, taking control since Foxy never will, "I spend most of my time at the gym."

[X]

We arrive at my favorite haunt and I, to please the Capitol, give a grandiose gesture at the sweaty, cavernous, neon room around me.

"Capitol gyms," I say, "are better than _anything_ you find in the districts. I live by 'em."

People begin to gawk, freezing their equipment and trying to sneak their way into the view of the countless cameras.

Seizing Foxy's hand, I walk and go on—barely listening to myself—and on about how perfect my life with Foxy turned out to be. I discuss generosity and try not to gag.

Once we arrive at my all-time favorite weight room, I turn to the camera crew, because I am a damned charmer, and say, "I'm going to impress the hottest girl here with my weight lifting skills."

And Foxy says with a teensy smile, "She's lucky."

I pointedly wink. A camera flashes to get a still of my expression. "She's you."

I grab the heaviest weights I can find.

"Am I impressing you yet?" I tease, dramatically lifting one.

"Yes." She blushes. Foxy is _infuriatingly_ cute.

I turn to the cameras again. "Who wants to see me bench press my wife?"

Foxy subtly shakes her head but I pretend not to see. I wickedly grin and beckon for her to follow, feeling very much like an evil person in the Garden of Paradise.

Finally, she skitters and hops over to me. I grab her in one swift move.

Even those behind the scenes applaud.

It is the single redeeming factor of this dreadful city; they love to be entertained.

[X]

Despite the surprisingly not-unbearable morning, on that same sunny afternoon, I become the subject of a televised assassination attempt.

All I'm doing at the time is striding through the streets of the Capitol, holding hands with Foxy, Cordelia and Enobaria not far. We reach a cleared space in the park where some of our wedding decorations remain, fawned over by the people of the Capitol for weeks.

Suddenly, I hear the thunderous crash of a gun going off. A bullet speeds towards me and, thankfully, years of agonizing training send me to the ground before it could hit me. Two more fly forward, but the assassin is too reckless.

Foxy freezes. Enobaria bursts through the crowd and drags the boy to the peacekeepers. The cameras keep rolling and I think amidst my shock, _what idiots_.

A buff peacekeeper seizes the boy by the arms and holds him up. Foxy takes timid, swift steps towards the shivering boy with golden flower tattoos and streaky blue hair. Cordelia Shepherd helps me to my feet and I stare on, agape.

"Why?" Foxy croaks, and I'm floored by her boldness. "Why did you try to hurt her?"

Though his voice shakes, the boy cries out, "Because the strength of the districts can't reach the Capitol. They need help. They need help to make people pay. We've ignored their plight for too long. You should know that!"

"It's not—it's not—I mean, not, not—it's not about making people—making anybody, making people—making anyone in the Capitol or Districts pay," Foxy nervously says, tears blossoming in her ice blue eyes. After collecting herself, she speaks a little louder. "You—you're from here not there—and so—and _so you don't understand that they do it out of hunger for bread, not thirst for violence!_ "

I squint at her. Every time I think I have Foxy figured out, she does something unpredictable. Sometimes the shyest creatures—foxes—remember they have claws and fangs, I guess.

"We should get out of here," Cordelia mutters, rushing forward and grabbing her former tribute. She drags Foxy away from the assassin she confronted.

Our guard escorts us as we flee to the nearest upscale coffee shop.

For some reason, I don't think Snow will be pleased. It's bad enough that something embarrassing like District Twelve happened; it's even worse to happen in his precious Capitol.

Enobaria keeps her lips tightly sealed as she clutches my arm.

Cordelia says coldly, "That went slightly better than the absolute worst it could have possibly gone," with her jaw clenched.

Enobaria keeps walking after Foxy settles with Cordelia and the Capitolians start taking tender care of her. My former mentor takes me into the very private bathroom.

I don't let her speak first. I can't.

"Did you see that? I almost died. I almost died and I would've had a thousand fucking regrets. That's not how it's supposed to work for people like us."

"Nobody dies without regrets." Pause. "You've always been naïve like that."

Bristling, I snarl, "I survived the Academy. I survived the Arena. I survived my sham of a wedding and all of this bullshit. I. Am. Not. Naïve."

Enobaria shakes her head, staring at me like I am a cat standing on its hind legs.

"What are your regrets, anyway? Cato? Something else that you should stop thinking about before it makes you act like your wife?"

"This." I kiss her, forcefully, but the bite I receive in response is not soft and tantalizing. It makes me—Clove Conium the Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games—scream.

Enobaria glowers at me while I whimper and grab my bleeding wound.

And, despite my shredded face, she says, "I love you more than anything but one of us needs to give up hope first," before striding away and leaving me angrily gripping the marble sink.

I hold back a whimper and glare at my pitiful reflection.

[X]

The Capitol doctors mend my lip with a strange, small, silver device that emits a bright blue light and hums softly as it does its work. But even though not a mark remains, I keep rubbing where my face was torn by Enobaria's gilded fangs.

That preoccupies me while I watch Foxy pace in our apartment.

"Why do I do these things?" she whispers, wringing her hands. "Why do I not think before I talk? Why?"

"Because even though foxes are the kind of animal that runs and only eats the chickens at night, when you corner one of them and get it scared, it'll rip your damn throat out."

"I'm not a fox. They're much braver than I am." Pause. "I just got angry. I got angry that—that anyone would try to hurt you and that anyone would think that it's—that violence—that violence is the cure to violence." Pause. "Or do I just tell myself that? Am I just afraid of a war because I know I'd never survive one?"

I say what I struggle to make myself believe, "There's not a war and there won't be one. The Capitol will take care of it. We're fine."

Foxy does not argue, but I do not think I soothed her either. She gently nods at me and goes to lie down in our bedroom.

I, again, try to tell myself that it's somebody else's job to care.

[X]

We have a little party—as the Capitol is ought to do—of those involved with the Honeymoon Special production. Cordelia drinks in the corner and appears to be telling Foxy a very animated story. Whatever it is about, my wife looks terrified. She is too cute. Sickeningly cute. Cute as a box of kittens, which drives me crazy in more ways than one.

I finally find Enobaria, seeking her like a fool seeks death.

She stands, talking prettily to some unattractive man. I cannot suppress my glower when I hear her giggle. Enobaria does not _giggle_.

A client. I figure it out quickly. Every five seconds he shoots a lascivious glance Enobaria's way and each time I briefly fantasize about choking him to death, watching him gasp and shudder like a fish on a dock. But I manage to keep calm and confidently stride over to them.

"Clove Conium," the man says, grandly introducing himself as some stupid Capitol name. I try not to roll my eyes while he lists several titles that must give him the illusion of importance.

"I see you get along well with my mentor," I say.

"Of course I do." He grabs her ass.

I break his nose.

The moment I see the shimmering blood on my knuckles, feel the familiar dull ache in my hand, taste the acidic adrenaline, and hear the shuffling and whispers of the gathered crowd, my stomach churns. Instantly, I predict a dark twist in my fate.

I'm certain I'm not wrong to.

[X]

Sitting across from me, President Snow coolly says, "A friend of mine is very unhappy about a certain incident."

I am having tea with him in a fancy shop that requires a strict dress code, which leads me to believe I will not be murdered today. Still, I do not have a sip, and instead opt to eat a solitary lemon cake. I take my time with it, hoping that will stop him from questioning my neglect of the Earl Grey.

With my mouth full, I reply, "I feel really bad about it. I just thought he was gross, y'know, groping women, and I reacted really poorly. I don't like, uh, disrespect."

President Snow appears unimpressed. It was a longshot anyway.

"I know what you have with your mentor, and we cannot afford for anyone to notice it. Unfortunately, I imagined you would cut it off by now," he says, locking eyes with me. I struggle to hold back my fear. "You seemed like a smart girl."

"I'm not," I reply, setting down half of my frosted lemon cake. I swallow.

"And I'm not a fan of the teacher's pet."

Quietly, I say, "Then man up and execute me."

"You aren't a smart girl, are you? Well, sometimes first impressions are deceptive. I thought you outsmarted my Games, but… maybe you really were overcome by adolescent hormones when it came to Solanine. It would fit in with your idiotic pursuit of Enobaria Whitethorn."

Leaning forward, I say, "I put on a good show with the Capitol, okay? They love me. I play up for the cameras and I'm convincing when I say what they want to hear. I'm married to Fo—Sol and I love her. I just… have loose ends with Enobaria."

"Sever them."

He calls for the check.

I shove the rest of my lemon cake in my mouth and finish it.

[X]

I go with Enobaria to the train station, even though I probably should have declined the offer that Satin Athens made. We walk together to the platform, standing as far apart as the cement beneath our feet allows.

But when we freeze in front of the open train door, I meet her gaze.

I say, "I have to get this off my chest before you go."

"Quickly and quietly," commands Enobaria, crossing her arms.

I try to sort out the words that rattled in my head during the car ride. "The thing is, we keep ignoring each other and ignoring what we had and ignoring that we were gonna get married. Acting like none of those nights at the Academy ever existed. We act like it's the right thing to do. But, deep down, I think we both know it wasn't supposed to end like this."

Enobaria brusquely answers, "We can't choose how it ends."

Silence.

With a sigh, I state, "Then, if I can't ever kiss you again, can I just kiss you once more? I don't want the last one I ever have to involve reconstructive surgery."

Enobaria shakes her head. "Not here."

I have never sounded so weak as when I plead, "Where else then? _Please_. I'll move on. I promise. Just… _please_."

I guess she pities me. Maybe that is what I wanted.

Her lips crush against mine. It feels different than any other kiss we shared, because we never kissed for the last time, not even before I went into the Hunger Games. This is the last one, and we both know it, pressing harder and harder until we know we must break apart.

If I knew how, I would cry, and I know she sees it on my face. "I'm sorry that I'm weak now. You must be ashamed as a mentor."

Enobaria pauses. And she then says, "Someone told me once that the weak would never enter the kingdom of love."

At that, she boards the train and vanishes from my life yet again.

[X]

The next morning, Foxy sets down a magazine on the table while I drink my coffee.

"I think we're in trouble," she timidly whispers.

"Did people not like the special?" I inquire, snatching the glossy magazine and immediately dropping it when I see the picture of the train station on the front cover.

It is me. It is Enobaria. It is me kissing Enobaria.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Next chapter is the Quarter Quell announcement. I have so many surprises planned for what I hope to be something original and interesting. I'm looking forward to sharing it with y'all._

 _On that note, I've been thinking about the Arena for the Quarter Quell. Months ago I developed the plot for it, and I think it should be shocking and have some twists people will enjoy (I hope), but the Arena has received less attention in my outlines._

 _Right now I have a few ideas for my own original Arenas, but when I re-read Catching Fire, I realized that there were numerous hours without threats featured and I considered perhaps reusing the canon Arena but focusing on all of the aspects of it that Katniss didn't see/suffer. Any thoughts? Would y'all prefer my original Arena or exploring the Arena from CF? Anyway, thank you for reading this far and I hope you're enjoying the show._


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

* * *

 _ **FOXFACE**_

* * *

When I was a kid, I got in trouble at school for lying. My teacher bruised my knuckles with a battered old ruler. Standing shamefully at the front of the dilapidated classroom, my heart uncontrollably raced as I looked at the classmates who gaped and laughed.

That is how I feel now. My stomach twists the exact same way as it did then.

"Foxy…" Pause. "You're my main squeeze. You know that, right?"

I admitted breathlessly, "I don't care about whatever you do with Enobaria. I care about what—what's going to _happen_ now. We could start a _war_." I tear at my hair and struggle to breathe. It feels like I am drowning on dry land.

Clove only offers, "Yeah."

"Imagine if-if-if our teenage hormones start a war! How terrible would that be? Terrible." I cannot stop the panicked squeaking noise that escapes my lips. I clamp my palm over my mouth but it does not help at all. "My brother is going to be Reaped."

Cavalierly, Clove retorts, "Honestly, that was probably already gonna happen. I don't think I made it worse."

I feel an unfamiliar sensation surging through my veins, red hot and painful. At first, I thought it was anger but then I realized it was something more. It was _rage_.

"Do _not_ treat this like it's small. Because it's not. It's not small," I growl, clutching the marble counter until my knuckles turn white.

Clove's eyes flash and she takes a startled breath. "I didn't know you could—"

I snarl like a fox backed up against a wall, the girl stabbing Glimmer in the neck, "Be forceful? Be strong? When I need to be, I think I can! I am stronger than anybody knows!"

Clove stands up and takes my face in her clammy hand. "I know you can. I watched you stab a girl to death, I watched you say some bold things on camera, I watched you try to protect an assassin because you knew you were doing the right thing. I know you can be strong. I just didn't know you could be so angry."

I shake my wife off of me and take several skittering steps backwards. "You don't know me. I don't know you. I want to know you."

Clove softly says, quieter than I have ever heard her speak, "I want to know you too."

I take a breath and the heat in my face begins to recede.

"Good," I say. "Then let's stop screwing things up so much. I'd like to figure out a few things about my wife before we're both executed or worse."

"Yeah. Like before they make us have kids to smooth this over."

I feel like someone punched me in the throat. "You don't want kids?"

"Of course I don't. They're gross, they slow you down, and they'd only be used against us. They'd be like, like, like a weapon to turn against us or something. Something we could lose. I'm not good with them either." Clove scowls.

"I want kids," I say, knowing this is not at all the time for the discussion. The Quarter Quell looms, infidelity is on the cover of a popular magazine, and what I worry about is the fact that my wife does not want to reproduce.

Clove seems just as puzzled by it. "Why? What would possibly make you that crazy?"

"It isn't _crazy_ to want…" I shake my head. I've used up all the anger in me for today.

"Pretty little children who dye their hair bright pink and go to the fancy little school and turn into despicable Capitol people? Or pretty little children who through some vague loophole get decapitated on mandatory television? Those are the only two choices."

"At least they'd be pretty," I try to joke through the tears swelling in my eyes, constricting my throat to the point I can barely breathe.

"Yeah," murmurs Clove. "Look, we can talk about this again after the Quell."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah." Clove shrugs and I immediately know she is lying.

But I am not brave enough to call her out on that.

[X]

The night before the Quarter Quell reveal, I find Clove sitting in our living room and drinking. She looks wrapped up in it, trapped in her head, and maybe I should leave her alone. It is nothing like me in the casino downing Nightlock Hearts as if there were no tomorrow. There is nothing joyful about this agonizing scene. Still, I stride forward and sit down across from her, trying to ignore the strong stench of liquor.

Clove looks up and demands, "Why do you want to talk to me?"

I say in earnest, "I'm not mad at you. I was never mad at you."

She smashes her cup down and I jump. "You _should be_!"

I whisper, "Why?"

"Because I'm a cheater and a liar and a murderer and a lot of things that—that—that you should be pissed about! Your brother is probably going to get Reaped because of me and my inability to keep my hands off a woman I had no business being with in the first place! Yell at me! Hit me! Do something other than _stare_!" Tears pour from her eyes as she lifts the cup to her lips again.

I try to grab her hand but she pulls away, wobbly and broken. "Don't do this to yourself," I plead with tears of my own welling in my eyes. "We can get through this… you don't have to…"

Clove loudly scoffs. "Don't have to what? Give in to the _life of a victor_?" She scoffs. I cringe. "Look, Foxy, it's cute you want to help me, but I'm a lost cause."

I'm startled by my own vehemence when I grab her arm and insist, "Causes are only lost when we give up on them."

She stares at me for a few seconds and then shakes my hand off of her.

"Are you even jealous?"

"Of what?"

Clove clears her throat lividly. "Of me and Enobaria. Are you even jealous?"

"Of course I am. I want to hit her in the face with a brick for kissing you. But I understand that our circumstances are complex."

Someone knocks on the door, interrupting us. Clove groans as I scurry away to answer it. When I open the door, my breath catches in my throat. It is the woman I just mentioned wanting to hit in the face with a brick.

Enobaria Whitethorn, in the flesh, in the Capitol, in my home.

"I have to talk to Clove about something," says Enobaria and I step forward. "Alone."

To the core, I want to snap and snarl at her. I want to sink my nonexistent fangs into the place in her neck where her pulse throbs.

But I just say, "Yeah. She's a bit drunk, but you can see her."

"I don't blame her for being wasted. I was last night. I had a hangover from Hell this morning on the train."

"Is there a," I say as we walk into the house together, "reason you're here? People aren't allowed to leave the districts."

"I am not a person. I am a victor," says Enobaria, "and I was invited to attend the Quarter Quell reveal. I assume to further my public embarrassment at the hands of Clove Conium."

"I'm sorry about that," I say.

"You have no reason to be sorry. You have reason to stab her in the jaw. She cheated on you with me." Enobaria shrugs. She seems bitter, or maybe cavalier, or maybe in between. I can read everyone like a book but her and Clove.

"Our relationship is complicated," I earnestly say. "I'm okay with it."

"No you're not. Stop being so complacent." Enobaria seizes a vase of roses gifted to us by President Snow's aid. "Where's your garbage incinerator?"

I freeze in place, puzzled for a moment. Then I softly wave my hand for her to follow and we stride to the end of the main hallway, Enobaria's sharp heels clicking on the cold stone floor.

Without hesitation, Enobaria drops the bouquet of roses into the incinerator.

"They were rotting," she lies with a tiny smile. "It'll kill all the fresh fruit in the house."

I do not believe that to be true, but I am not brave enough to say anything either.

"We love our fresh fruit," says Clove and I spin around to see her swaggering down the hallway. She gives no indication of what she may be thinking and I loathe it. And she still looks as drunk as the day is long.

Enobaria's expression sours as she remarks, "Fresh berries in particular."

I blush. Clove scowls. Enobaria pays us no mind.

"Clove," snaps Enobaria, "I need to speak with you in private."

I watch them walk away with livid jealousy eating away at my chest.

At least Clove returns with a broken nose.

[X]

The next day, I sit in the cold mountain air, beside a hungover Clove, behind a smug President Snow, surrounded by important Capitol people I never learned the names of. The colors around me are bright and garish, but the world feels desaturated and morose.

We are in the main square, where I was paraded less than a year ago. Last time I was here, I thought I was headed to my death. I could have never foreseen I was on my way to a worse fate This is a somber day. The most somber and tense of my life, and I have been reaped for the Hunger Games in the past.

I stared forward blankly as the ceremony progressed. My eyes flickered around at the countless cameras broadcasting one of the grandest events in the past twenty-five years. Perhaps the most anticipated and adored by the fools who did not fear what may come next.

Clove kept rubbing her eyes. I tried to take her hand but she slipped her calloused fingers away from me.

At last, President Snow declared into the microphone, "To remind us that the strongest and weakest among us are equally vulnerable, one of the two tributes sent into the Arena will be reaped exclusively from children between twelve and fourteen, and one of the two tributes sent into the Arena will be reaped from the existing pool of victors."

I choke. I cannot breathe. I feel as if I am under water, suffocating and clawing at the waves trying to drag myself up to the unreachable surface.

Thoughtlessly, I leap up from my seat and run away from the stage. I dash into the green room and grab onto a vanity mirror, staring at my sweating face and pouring tears. My heart accelerates to the point I worry I will have a heart attack.

Two peacekeepers grab me by the upper arms, wipe my eyes and drag me towards the crowd gathering outside the door. Clove gazes forward, squinting, tired.

People keep staring at my broken appearance agape, snapping pictures. Clove picks me up, tosses me over her shoulder and carries me into a closet I imagine is only used by avoxes. She drops me back onto my feet and I start wretchedly crying again, my entire body shaking from the force.

"I should've just eaten those berries," I sob. "It would've been better."

Clove looks about to slap me; her hand even twitches. "Don't you _ever_ say that again!"

"Let's run. Let's run."

"To where?"

"We have to go somewhere. Somewhere not in an Arena. I can't go back into the Games."

After a long, strangled silence, "I hear Hell is pretty nice at this time of year," Clove croaks.

And I bite back my tears. I cannot cry. I can't. I can't. I can't.

But I do. I do and I can only wait for her to comfort me.

She does, somehow. She promises to burn the world down and not let a flame touch me.

We end up on the floor naked and breathlessly, beautifully, comfortably numb.

[X]

The next morning, I stare at a bowl of cereal, waiting for Clove to wake. I have never felt so alone, so afraid, so hopeless. My body trembles, cold as ice. I gave up on eating several minutes ago despite the food in front of me.

Finally, my wife walks into the room and loudly pours herself a cup of black coffee.

She downs it in one sizzling gulp and grabs another.

Then, Clove Conium turns to me.

"You okay?" she asks, walking towards me.

I avert my eyes. "I'm gonna die in an Arena. I guess I was supposed to last time, and this is fate's way of fixing the mistake."

"You're not going back in there. Cordelia Shepherd will help you."

"She'd die in there. Maybe last through the first night. I'll be Reaped anyway. He wants to get rid of us. Don't you see?"

"I will not let anyone take you into an Arena."

"It might happen. I'll try to avoid it for you. But it might happen."

"Then I'm going to teach you how to fight," she states. "I mean, the best I can. Yeah, it took me years and we only have months, but you learn impressively fast."

"That sounds good," I attempt. But I'm scared. I'm scared to death.

Clove strides out of the kitchen while I follow, then starts digging through the shoe basket and swipes her coat from the hook. "Let's head to the gym."

I stand, frozen in place by horror. "We can't stay home and just practice here? They're going to stare and whisper and take pictures and ask us questions."

"Please be brave for once. You're beautiful when you're brave."

As insulting as that is, at least she said please. It is true, I suppose. I am not brave. I am Solanine Jones and I have always been a coward hiding in the shadows since the day I was born.

"Okay, let's go to the gym," I murmur. She all but dresses me and takes us through the most deserted roads we can find until we reach the building.

People gawk. Some try to approach but Clove shoots glares that terrify away any Capitol citizens who want to make me miserable.

After dragging me across the smelly room, Clove shoves me down onto a strange machine.

"This is a shuttle press," she declares, grabbing my ankles and setting my feet up into a strange position. "You're gonna kick its ass."

I stare up at her with a tiny scowl.

[X]

The next day, we start sparring. She told me this morning she wants to rush into combat skills and build my strength on the equipment as we go. I certainly didn't argue, for I know nothing about this and it was her life for years.

These sessions never cease to become a bit heated, in the good way. She shows me how to get an attacker off of me, but I fail again and again. At last, on the third day, I manage to push the knife out of her hand. I then guide her down and shove her onto the floor. But then she breaks the rules and pulls down my heel.

"You should've been prepared for that!" she angrily exclaims, grabbing me and flipping me onto my back.

Instead of arguing or defending myself, I blurt out, "I once read a book once about the possibility of parallel Universes."

"Huh?" Clove sits back, straddling me with her back straight. Our eyes still maintain contact.

I explain, "More than one Universe, more than one timeline. In one we died in the Games, in another we never were born, and in another the Games never existed. I just know that in one of them, we don't have to have this conversation. Because in one of them, our dark love has a chance to grow and to, and to, to glow."

She blinks, softly smiles, quickly wipes the trace of happiness from her face. "You're a lot smarter than me so I'll take your word for it."

"Well, you've got better looks."

"I'd rather my kid have smarts, so you're the one getting pregnant after all this. Plus, I'm not trading these abs for anything."

I rub my lips together.

There will not be a kid, smart or pretty or anything else.

I will die in the Arena; I have made up my mind.

Yet, the things I know I will leave behind still sting.

[X]

After our fourth day at the gym in a dimly lit bedroom, "Please, don't cry," whispers Clove.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I wipe my tears with the back of my hand but cannot contain the next sob that escapes my lips and shakes my shoulders.

Clove says vehemently, "When this is over, when this is all over, when we storm the Capitol and tear down its walls and kiss on the smoldering rubble, we'll go home and have a baby. And she'll have your smarts and my looks and it's going to be great."

"You're lying," I croak.

"I'm lying or telling the truth depending on what you do. Foxy— _Sol_ —I don't want you to go into the Games. Whatever you do, don't go into the Games. Cordelia will volunteer for you, and you _won't_ volunteer for Cordelia. I'll go into the Arena again, and I'll win, and I'll come back to you, and then we'll conquer the fucking world on our own and have as many babies as you want. I'm gonna set the Capitol on fire and not let a single flame touch you."

I start to sob. Clove draws me into her strong, muscular arms.

"Are you sure you'll win?" I whisper in her ear.

"Damn straight."

I nestle my face against her shoulder.

[X]

 **FEBRUARY:** My legs ache every day as I walk, but not as much as my heart aches.

[X]

 **MARCH:** Time passes, even if I don't want it to, and each second pulses like a bruise.

[X]

 **APRIL:** I walk to the gym in the rain and sit inside and read and kiss my wife each time wondering if it will be the last taste.

[X]

 **JUNE:** Each afternoon, I sweat from fear and heat, perhaps most from fear.

[X]

The day of the Reaping, I stand at the train station. Cordelia and Enobaria stand in conversation as Clove and I prepare to board the train and depart at separate districts.

"I thought I'd cry. But I can't. Maybe I cried out all my tears," I softly say to Clove.

"I know you hate Enobaria," says my wife, taking my hand in hers, "but she promised me she'll take care of you while I'm in the Games."

Slipping my fingers out of her tight grasp, I turn to face her and kiss her on the coarse lips for a split second. It hurts worse than anything I have ever felt.

I lie to my wife, "I promise not to volunteer."

"Good." She believes me. The liar's greatest tool is the trust of fools, I always thought. "If you die, I'll have to kill you."

"If you die, I'll have to kill you too." I awkwardly touch her shoulder.

Clove kisses me fiercely.

As she pulls away, she says, "You better come up with some baby names while I'm in there. And they better be good. I won't settle for something gross like Satin or Valentina."

"Okay," I murmur, forcing a pained smile.

Our mentors call for us to travel.

I still cannot cry, no matter how much my eyes and nose tingle.

[X]

No one allows me to see my brother as they usher me to the makeshift stage in the town square. It reminds me of the place where my mother was executed for trying to blow the dam and destroy the Arena while my cousin was in it. To try to rescue her. To defy the Capitol and kill the power everywhere in Panem.

The mayor introduces the Games as I try to find Fission in the crowd. Even though I squint, I cannot see him. I cannot find him. He must be so scared and there is nothing I can do. Cordelia pats me softly on the back but it does not help.

Finally, Valentina Nyxeris shoots me a heartbroken glance.

"First, from the children between the ages of twelve and fourteen," she announces in a shimmery sweet voice that feels faker than her wig. She reaches into the bowl and I squeeze my eyes shut. I know who she will call. I know.

I am right.

Valentina calls out, "Fission Jones."

At last, I lock eyes with my brother. He walks to the stage and Valentina helps him up. My baby brother stands and shoots me a forlorn glance. I slightly shake my head, knowing I cannot help him as much as he wants me to.

"Now," says Valentina, "from the existing pool of victors."

She strides over to the bowl with only three strips of paper in it. She shifts them around and at last unfolds one.

"Cordelia Shepherd," she announces and the microphone creaks.

All breath vacates my lungs. I know what I promised to Clove, but I run forward anyway.

I struggle to speak as I gently push Cordelia backwards and scream, "I volunteer! I volunteer!"

"We… have a volunteer," says Valentina Nyxeris.

Walking up to the microphone, I say, "I, Solanine Conium, volunteer as tribute."

My heart keeps performing angry backflips, as if it loathes me for my attempt at bravery.

But sometimes you must be brave, even if every fiber of your being resents you for it.

* * *

 _ **CLOVE**_

* * *

The day before the Quarter Quell reveal, after ushering me into the most private room in the house, Enobaria inquires in a hushed tone, "Clove, what's Operation Asphodel?"

It sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't know why. I can't recall ever hearing the name.

"I dunno. Beats me." I shrug. It seems to bother her. "Why are you asking?"

"No reason," says Enobaria, which is the most brazen lie I have heard in a while.

"So, you're here because the Capitol thinks I'm the biggest slut since Finnick Odair, huh?" I say, and suddenly Enobaria's fist collides with my face. I stumble backwards and drunkenly fall.

"What gives?" I demand, shoving myself back onto my feet and touching my aching broken nose. Blood drips into my lips and I taste nothing but metal.

She snarls at me, fangs glistening with saliva that might as well be a serpent's venom.

"What gives? I taught you! I taught you since you were a little girl! How to throw knives and play soccer and fight and… and just fight. I've raised a lot of children without having any. Most of them go on and become peacekeepers and live calm lives. Some of them die. You were my favorite. You were my favorite, Clove Conium. And it's killing me to see you destroying yourself doing what I taught you to do! I don't think you'll ever understand how much that hurts!"

I am stunned into silence.

Finally, I give it my best shot. "You don't have anything to worry about."

Enobaria's nostrils flare as she shakes her head.

"Yes, I do."

We don't have anything else left to say to each other.

[X]

Foxy is the kind of pretty you don't notice at first. She has a banging body, yeah, and I noticed it when I first saw her at the tribute parade. She has these amazing sky blue eyes that I noticed when we allied together.

But I never really saw how damned beautiful she was until today, moments after President Snow announced the nightmarish theme for the Quarter Quell, standing in the dim light of a broom closet, hiding from the peacekeepers that unfairly dragged her into the crowd and made her a spectacle. The tears drip from her eyes, down onto her beautiful lips, with the smeared ruby lipstick, and I want nothing more than to kiss them away, as if that could erase my mistakes.

"Just tell me it's going to be okay," croaks Foxy, gazing into my eyes, her lips twisted in agony. "Just say the words. Just say the right words."

I wait the longest time to answer, "I don't know them."

She begins to uncontrollably sob, and I take her in my arms. I still do not know how to deal with a panicked and heartbroken person but I'm trying my best.

I know if I go back into that Arena, I could win again.

She couldn't. Foxy couldn't.

I know she is one of the cleverest players to ever be in the Hunger Games but it won't be enough. Not with her brother to protect and experienced killers tracking her down first.

At this moment, this pained, exhausted moment, I run my fingers through my hair and decide once and for all that I am going to die for her. Dying for her would not be the worst way to go. Maybe it's even how I _want_ to die. I want my candle snuffed out on my terms, saving the girl I think I might love. I might… be able to love one day.

"I'll make sure to burn the whole city down before I let you go back there," I lie, whispering in her ear. I know those probably aren't the right words, not the ones she wants me to say, but they're the best ones I can come up with on the spot.

Foxy laughs through her tears. The sound of it makes my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. It hurts in a weird way I don't fully understand.

"You'll burn it down for me, huh?" she asks softly, laughing again. Her shoulders faintly shake and I don't know if it's from tears or giggles.

"Just give me a match, baby," I whisper in her ear, my lips grazing softly against her damp face. Her beautiful, beautiful damp face.

"Let me find one," she breathes, but she does not let go of me. And I'm okay with that. I've never been more okay with someone touching me, holding me, rooting me in place with affection.

"I think we could've loved each other, if we had the time."

"I think so too."

We slowly break apart.

Then, suddenly, she scurries to me and presses her lips against mine.

We tear at each other's clothes and sink to the floor, pursuing ecstasy, or maybe numbness.

[X]

Back at my apartment in the Capitol, after Foxy and I's last day in the gym, I stand across from Enobaria. Her hair is mussed, her make-up smeared. She has lost hope. I know I should, but I don't want to say it. I doubt either of us will mention how scared we are.

"Promise me you'll take care of Foxy while I'm in the Games."

Enobaria smirks and I want to slap her. "You think she won't throw herself into them?"

"She's a good person. A really good person. But she's not brave. And she's smart enough to know she'll die if she volunteers."

"And what about you? Perhaps you both should find a way to avoid the Arena."

"The whole point of this is to throw me and Foxy back into the Games and kill us the worst way possible. It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be me. I'm okay with that."

"Clove…" Enobaria murmurs.

I say, "Really. I am. It's me and Foxy and…"

"And…" Enobaria crosses her arms. "And I guess that's for the best, isn't it? You two belong together. You were willing to die for each other. You love each other, and I respect that."

I shake my head, lips curled into a bitter half-angry snarl, "No, you don't. You want me still and I want you still."

Enobaria waves her hand dismissively. "None of that matters anymore."

"Yeah, yeah, it does. If this is my last… if this is my last time free from the Games—"

She takes a deep breath. "We're done. We're finished. This is the end for us."

"We don't end. We're—we're Clove and Enobaria. We're—everything I did wrong, everything we screwed up, every time we screwed, I'd do it over again, no matter how bad it hurts. I'd do it over again because I love you or something. I'd do it again. Would you?"

Enobaria remains silent for a painfully long time.

"I wouldn't survive you a second time," she says at last, choking on the words.

And I stare at her as she walks away.

[X]

The night after Enobaria cast me aside for good, I wait until our gym session is over and kiss Foxy fiercely on the lips. I dig my nails into her back and hold her in place as I forget how to breathe. Finally, the kiss breaks and I gaze into her eyes.

I love them. I love them so much.

"Can you guess my favorite color?" I ask.

"The red of the blood of your enemies," teases Foxy.

I smile. "Nope. Try again."

She squints at me for a moment before she tries, "Blue."

"Yeah," says Clove, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Ice blue. The coldest you can find."

"Like quarry water?"

I want to tell her that it is her eyes, but I cannot bring myself to do it.

"Yeah. Something like that," I vaguely lie, sitting down on our plush bed. She walks towards me and stands between my open legs. "I'm glad I married you."

"Stop it." She waves her lovely lily hand.

"Stop what?"

"Acting like we're gonna die. Or you are or I am. We're gonna live. We're gonna do it."

"Yeah. We're Foxy and Clove. We survive, as long as we stay a team."

"We stir the pot."

"Yeah. Except neither of us can actually cook."

Both of us laugh, although it isn't very funny. We are just too high strung to care about a proper sense of humor.

I watch the moonlight make shadows on her face and try to stop being sad about my ex.

Grieving over Enobaria feels foolish when I have someone I love with all of my twisted black heart right at my side.

[X]

 **FEBRUARY:** I massage the sore legs of Solanine Conium and kiss her cheek, brush her fiery red hair away from her beautiful blue eyes.

[X]

 **MARCH:** Foxy presses her lips against the bruise on my shoulder from an incident with some weights, and I shake my head, suppressing a laugh, before handing her another knife.

[X]

 **APRIL:** I cannot find an umbrella, and Foxy shakes with silent giggles as I punch the walls on my desperate, angry, stomping search for the item I wasted money on.

[X]

 **JUNE:** In the sweltering early summer heat, I sip iced tea with liquor in it and try not to think, try to keep my mind numb.

[X]

On the day of the Reaping, as the train stops in District 2, I grab Foxy by the hand. She flinches before locking eyes with me. I rub my lips together.

"Foxy, I need you to kiss me."

"Of course." She smiles like a pretty, cold, emotionless doll. I know she is hiding her real feelings for some reason but I don't want to deal with them.

"No," I say. "I need you to kiss me like it's the last time. Because I never want to forget the last time we kissed. I want to remember it fondly while I'm in the Arena."

"Okay." She presses her lips against mine. It isn't right. It feels like an ordinary kiss but I know I have no time or willpower to complain.

I step backwards and follow my ex-girlfriend out of the train station without saying goodbye.

If I say goodbye, it will feel too real.

[X]

At the Reaping, they call out a name, then some fourteen-year-old kid from the Academy strides up to the podium and announces, "I, Tiberius Servitor volunteer as tribute."

He is big, but not as big as Cato or any other past District 2 tribute. Maybe a quarter of the way through puberty despite his muscles and height, but I know he must be the best fourteen-year-old at the Academy.

Satin Athens moves to the bowl with numerous paper slips. I know it will be more than those in any other District. But I also know they will call my name, and no one will volunteer because it will be the ultimate sign of disrespect.

"Clove Conium," she announces, as I anticipated.

I start walking forward but Enobaria launches into action, manners or not.

She shoves me out of the way so fiercely that it knocks the winds out of me. I gasp for breath, soundless, speechless as she strides confidently up to the microphone.

"I, Enobaria Whitethorn, volunteer as tribute."

My heart races faster than it has in my life, as if it is trying to propel me forward, to punch her out of the way, to do something when nothing can be done.

But sometimes you cannot act on impulse, even if every fiber of your being resents you for it.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N:**_ _This chapter is_ obscenely _long at 15k words. I just couldn't find a decent place to stop the action and so much needed to happen at this point in the story. Thank you so much for reading, I'm sorry for the length and I hope you enjoy the show anyway._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

* * *

 _ **FOXFACE**_

* * *

I watch the Quarter Quell Reapings with bated breath, trying to analyze my opponents. In District 1, they reap a brunet boy before a blond boy volunteers in his place. He tells the microphone he is fourteen and named Glisten. His district partner is Cashmere; I somewhat know her from fleeting conversations but cannot say I have any idea what I am up against. When the focus shifts to District 2, I dig my fingers into the sofa. They hurt at first but go numb when I see Clove on that stage. The boy who volunteers could easily snap me in half, but I still do not regret my decision. I wait for her to be chosen, to volunteer, to enter the Arena with me.

Enobaria Whitethorn. Instead it is Enobaria Whitethorn, true love of my wife. I am going to die. Enobaria Whitethorn is going to kill me. I am going to die.

District 3. Watching the District Three Reaping helps me shift my attention to something other than the fangs that would happily sink into my neck. They reap a scrawny twelve-year-old girl and Beetee Latier. My heart sinks. I do not want to kill him. I do not want him to die. Unfair. It is unfair.

District 4 involves the reaping of a mousy thirteen-year-old girl and the volunteering of the famous Finnick Odair.

District 5 is my own. I avoid listening to the commentary about how shocked the world is by getting up for a small drink. I hate it but finish it anyway before returning to my seat.

I missed District 6, but I know I am not endangered by anyone from there.

In District 7, they reap a boy who looks remarkably buff for his age. He could give the boy from Clove's district a run for his money, and I would bet my life the careers will snatch him up. Johanna Mason is the only female victor in Seven. She swears profusely at the microphone before they pull her away and it drops loudly to roll off the stage.

District 8 involves a tiny, pallid girl and Cecelia Brandt. They must tear her wailing children away from her. It breaks my heart, but I also know she has the highest kill count in Hunger Games history.

District 9 reaps a scrawny, scared kid and an older junkie.

District 10 is roughly the same routine.

District 11 reaps a small girl who looks all too much like Rue, and Haymitch's friend Chaff.

I hold my breath when District 12 begins. I did so much to hurt the people of that district that I feel… I feel pained by this.

I am right to hurt, because they reap Primrose Everdeen. When Katniss died, I promised I would protect her. But how can I protect Primrose when I need to protect Fission?

There is no other victor in her district to join her but Haymitch Abernathy.

I catch an odd glance, a forlorn look exchange between he and the district escort. Valentina certainly would never look at me like that.

Slowly, I turn to Cordelia. "Me and Fission are going to die, aren't we?"

Cordelia gives me a look I do not quite understand. Silently, she stands up and leaves the room. Initially, I think she agrees with me. Then I realize she gave me a _knowing_ glance. That perhaps she has a few mentor tricks up her sleeve.

Yet, despite Cordelia's possible confidence in her abilities, I doubt they will be enough if Fission and I face Enobaria in there.

"Sol," pipes up my brother, "are you scared?"

"No," I lie. "I've been in the Hunger Games before. I can protect you."

"You can't."

"Of course I can."

"To protect me, you'd have to die."

"I'm more than willing."

" _More_ than willing?"

"I'm at peace. I could go tonight and be fine with it. Just stick with me and I'll take you to the very end." I smile at him, even though not a word I said is wholly true.

Fission gives me a small nod.

I hope he believes the pretty lies I told.

[X]

Standing in the Remake Center after two extremely invasive baths, Septima paces around me murmuring details to herself that I do not fully understand.

She suddenly looks at me and says, "You're the Flower Girl. That's an important thing to be."

"It's a nickname," I quietly reply.

Septima vehemently shakes her head. "It's an icon. A symbol. _You_ are the Flower Girl. _You_ are an icon. _You_ are a symbol."

I try not to groan or roll my eyes. "And without any support from the people of Panem I might as well be an anointed dog catcher."

Septima points at me with a small smile. "You're starting to get it."

My face heats up as I explain softly, "I was trying to argue with you."

She ignores me and I am too afraid to protest further. "Let's get you dressed." Septima beams, clearly proud of herself. "It is time for you to _glow_."

"And Fission?" I ask, giving her an imploring glance.

"He will glow as bright as you. The two siblings from Five will be unforgettable. You'll shine like stars, I promise," gushes Septima, tugging softly at my hair before rising to remove my outfit from its hanger and bag.

I wait for her to put the outfit together, staring at my body in the mirror. I've filled out a bit since last time I stood here. Yet, my tattered nude bra and ancient panties do me no favors. My mind drifts to my last Games, and I suddenly realize I can no longer remember my District partner's face. Aster was his name, wasn't it? But what did he look like? What color were his eyes? What shape was his nose? I am clueless and it pains me.

None of us are unforgettable. We remember only monsters, saints and victors.

Three images flash in my head as I think that. Enobaria Whitethorn tearing out a throat with her teeth, Katniss Everdeen wreathing Rue's corpse in flowers, Clove turning to wink at me while wearing her glittering diamond crown.

Monsters. Saints. Victors.

[X]

"Sol!" cries out Fission as I walk out of the Remake Center. He wears a spiffy white suit that glows as brightly as my wedding dress, as brightly as my new dress for this march. Our capes match.

"Fission," I say, taking him into a tight hug. "You look so handsome."

"Stop it," he says, stepping backwards.

"Stop what?" I ask, attempting a smile. I fail.

"Treating me like I'm gonna die. You're acting like when I got that flu that passed around. It's weird and… scary. It's scary." He shakes ever-so-slightly.

I just nod. I don't know what else to say.

In front of us, I see District 4 preparing. Finnick Odair glances over his shoulder and then approaches me, perhaps sensing my discomfort. He does always seem good with people. At first, I think he is naked, before he walks closer to me, waving, and I see the fishing net covering his groin.

"Finnick Odair, you didn't have to dress up for me," I joke.

He laughs. "Somebody has a slightly sharp wit underneath all the cute little shy girl image."

"I didn't think my competition would come say hi."

"Did nobody greet you last time?"

I open my mouth to say no before I think of Rue in the netting above the training room.

"Not really. I was quiet," I say once I realize I look like a gulping fish.

"But attentive. I like that type," he says, popping something white into his mouth.

"Clove glared at me. I stared at her and I don't think she liked it much." I faintly smile as I remember her telling me that one night, laughing as the neon lights of the Capitol poured through our bedroom blinds.

He asks casually, popping a sugar cube into his mouth, "How's the wife taking this?"

My heart stops. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her yet. I promised her I wouldn't volunteer."

"People break promises all the time." Finnick shrugs and flashes his famous smile.

I avert my eyes. "I don't think Clove does."

Finnick just shrugs. "I'll see you around, flower girl."

"Bye," I whisper, awkwardly waving.

He walks away and I watch him pat the shoulder of his district partner and offer her a congealed cube of sugar.

Fission tugs on my glowing sleeve and I turn to face him with the warmest smile I can muster.

[X]

As the parade begins, I turn to Fission on the chariot and grab his hand. He squeezes mine and takes a huge breath. An irrational pride swells in me as the horse begins to canter.

We stand there, glowing as brightly as the stars that pierce through city smog above. I force a smile as I wave at the crowd. Fission nervously does the same, his palms sweaty against mine.

Suddenly, the cape connected to my glowing dress dissipates behind me as the hot wind makes it billow and I grip Fission and the chariot tighter. I loosen up when I notice the fabric undoing itself and turning into fake flower petals that rain behind me. The Capitolians frantically reach forward, shoving people aside to grab at one.

I keep waving at them.

What else am I to do?

[X]

Less than an hour after the parade, Fission and I eat dinner on the Fifth Floor of the Tribute Center. He eagerly digs into his food while I can only manage to poke at mine.

"They'll hunt down the newbies first," bluntly says Cordelia over our first dinner. She quickly gets to the point, I suppose.

I protest, "But the newbies are _children_. Little kids."

Cordelia scoffs at me and my cheeks heat up.

"And the victors," she icily says, "have been friends for years. I'd sooner kill scores of twelve-year-old children I don't know than kill someone I love. And don't think you're not included. You will be an immediate target, just like your brother and the other new kids."

My head spins. I only keep myself from crying and running to my bedroom because I know I cannot afford to frighten Fission. He needs to be brave if he will survive the Games. Thankfully, he always was braver than I.

Someone knocks on the door and Valentina skitters across the room to open it. She accepts an envelope from an avox and studies it closely.

"It's addressed to you, Sol," she says with a bright, undying smile.

I stand and tear it open with trembling fingers. It does not smell of roses, I keep telling myself, but it does not make me less anxious.

Finally, I read the note. It asks me to meet Clove downstairs by the fountain in the lobby.

I don't know why. I never know anymore. I just let the Capitol use me as a puppet and I hope I live to see another day.

"I have to go," I say.

"That isn't allowed," states Valentina.

"Plutarch Heavensbee has given me explicit permission and demanded my presence," I say honestly, handing her the note so she can examine it.

Valentina nods. "Say hello to Clove for me."

"I will," I say, and I stride away towards the elevators. I press the flashing button. Then, I fidget and shift my weight from foot to foot as I wait for the doors to open. This will be my first time facing my wife after I broke my promise and volunteered. I haven't been so afraid in ages.

When the elevator at last opens, I see two people inside, their lips locked. A victor and an escort. They break apart in a slow, languid terror when they see me standing there. Fear does not fit on the faces of Haymitch Abernathy and the woman who sparked the events that sent my former ally to her death. The woman takes a deep breath. Abernathy just slams his hand against the elevator door to keep it open and they both walk out silently before I step inside.

I stare at them while they walk away; I cannot help it.

Theirs will just be yet another failed romance.

Like me and Clove.

[X]

I return to the District Five lodgings from my fleeting but heartbreaking conversation with Clove sobbing hysterically. My waifish body shivers with each gasp and release of burning tears. Cordelia notices immediately and rushes to me. Fission is not far behind.

My mentor wraps me in her arms and I cannot help but recall how cold and bitter she was towards me last time we were here. So much has changed.

"I'm sorry that you can't protect us," I whisper, "but my mother wouldn't care. She'd just be glad you took us in when you did."

Cordelia asks in a soft, unrecognizable tone, "Have you been thinking about your mother?"

I ask as her hand gently scrunches up some of my hair. "Have you?"

Cordelia admits as she steps away from me, "Constantly, of late. Her, our friendship, what she died for."

"I've… I was just thinking about our talk last year." I briefly feel guilty for how little mind I have paid my mother's memory over the years.

Cordelia nods. "I should've died with her. I was a part of it. I was a part of the plot to blow the dam, but I never owned up to what I did. I drew up the plans. I was the one who knew how to make it happen. You should've let me go in that Arena for you, so that I could die like I was supposed to die."

I am at a loss for words.

[X]

On the first day of training, I feel sick. I look around and turn to my brother. The social butterfly, the person who knows what to do while I hide. They always said he fit in and I blended in; there is a grand difference between the two.

Fission waves at the frozen and tiny figure of Primrose Everdeen. She hesitantly waves back, her small fingers partially curled.

He turns to me, while I remain speechless.

"We need allies, right?" asks Fission, confidently smiling. I wish I could be as calm as he.

I murmur, "No, we don't. It's better if we stick together. Just me and you."

"You promised Katniss Everdeen you'd protect her sister, remember? It was her dying wish and if you don't honor it, I mean, that would make you a kinda bad person."

I bite my lower lip and nod. He makes an excellent point.

"You go talk to her," I say, because I certainly cannot face that young girl. Katniss deserved to win, not me. I robbed that girl of her sister with my uselessness in the Arena and I… I can't. I'm not brave enough to do that.

"Okay." Fission squeezes my hand. "Try to make friends."

I nod and he walks away to grin and charm the pretty blonde his age. It is somewhat cute. Very cute, actually, but I turn my attention away from them and look around the room for help. Enobaria hurls knives at a target with a vengeance and I recoil. Cashmere manages to look attractive while wielding a sword. Johanna Mason brandishes an axe while laughing with a very hung-over Haymitch Abernathy.

Then, I catch the eye of Beetee Latier. He comes to my rescue unprompted.

"Allies?" he offers with a gleam in his eyes, extending a hand.

"Allies." I smile and shake his hand.

So, Beetee, Fission and Primrose Everdeen. I hear the chilling thud of another knife flying from Enobaria's dark mahogany fingertips. It makes me jump slightly. We can't beat her, or Cashmere, or their district partners. We certainly can't beat Finnick Odair. Or, honestly, anyone in this room not thinner than a strand of yarn or strung out on narcotics.

"I do come with another ally of my own."

"Who?"

"Finnick Odair," says Beetee.

I sharply nod in agreement. "We could use some brawns on our side. I think Fission wants Primrose Everdeen, and I imagine Haymitch Abernathy comes with her."

Beetee adjusts his glasses and says, "It's not as bad of a team as you may think. I'd like to work with them, and you and your brother. We all can look out for each other."

"That's, that's the point of allies and all. Thank you." I blush and rub my neck.

Fission skitters over to me with Primrose Everdeen on his arm. He always was good with the ladies. I smile softly.

"Hi, Solanine. I don't think we've met since the flowers but I know you," says the sweet small girl whose sister deserved to win.

"How have you been?" I awkwardly ask Primrose.

"I've been okay. The baker has been really nice helping me and my mom."

"Peeta's father was a baker, wasn't he?" I recall aloud.

"Mhm." Primrose nods. I see tears in the eyes and try to think of a way to change the subject.

Instead, Haymitch Abernathy grabs my arm and takes me aside. He could not look more hungover and washed up if he tried, but he has a strong grip. I truly hope he stands a chance.

He softly says, "About what you saw last night…"

"What I saw? I haven't seen you since my Victory Tour." I wink.

He gruffly nods and releases me.

Fission pipes up, "Prim and I are allies now."

"Yeah," says Prim, a smile broadening on her rosy lips. "We'll be a great team. Haymitch needs to come too."

"And I want Beetee."

Beetee adds, "We should find Finnick."

A charming voice from behind me states, "You found him."

"Good," says Beetee. "Why don't you take Fission and Prim and teach them some knots and stitches. They should be useful with those nimble hands. Solanine, you scope out the competition while Haymitch and I sharpen some skills."

"Yes, sir," I say, giving a quaint salute.

Fission wipes his palm on the side of his pants, then takes Prim by the hand and they follow Finnick like little ducklings to the other side of the cavernous room.

I stride towards the careers. Cordelia would not want me to show my new talents, but I know what I want to do. I want to be brave. I want to take risks. I want to be more like Clove.

"Cashmere, can I take this spot?"

She slowly turns to me and purrs, "You can take anything if you want it enough."

I choke. She bats her eyelashes.

Finally, I manage to softly request, "Would you care for a friendly competition?"

Her impeccably groomed eyebrows shoot up. "A what?"

I offer, my voice shaking like a fool, "Let's see who racks up more kills in the simulator."

Cashmere starts laughing. She does have a beautiful, windchime giggle. It leaves me star struck for a few moments before I gather my dignity and thoughts.

"Come on. It'll be fun," I weakly attempt, now knowing I am in over my head.

Johanna Mason finishes hurling an axe and loudly says, "I'm in on this."

A smirk appears in Cashmere's lovely lips. "Okay. I'll bite."

And then Enobaria abandons her district partner trying to impress everyone by lifting weights, and pats Cashmere on the shoulder.

"Clash of the victors," she authoritatively announces. "This will be fun."

I lose. I lose, but I prove myself. I do well, I rack up points like Finnick Odair racks up lovers. I think even Enobaria might be impressed by the end of the competition.

Johanna wins and gloats to the displeased careers while I drift away.

I see Fission and Prim laughing with Finnick as he teaches them knots. They look so happy, so unlike people who are lambs to the slaughter.

When was I last that happy?

For the life of me, I cannot recall.

[X]

"Allies," barks Cordelia immediately after the first day of training. "Give me the rundown."

I sit on the sofa rubbing minty lotion on my aching feet. Fission was watching television, but he turns it off as soon as Cordelia starting speaking.

Fission lists brightly, "We have Primrose Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy, and Finnick Odair, and Beetee Latier. Any more than that and I think we're in more trouble than luck."

"We're doing great," says Fission. "Prim is great, and so is Finn. He taught me so many cool knots and I learned some camouflage with Prim. The lady from Six painted cat whiskers on us!"

I smile softly at him. He seems so thrilled.

Cordelia looks sick. I suppose I cannot blame her.

"Kid, want some chocolate?" offers our mentor.

"Yeah," Fission grins. "I guess that's a perk of being in the Capitol."

Cordelia rises, holding up her hand to stop an avox from doing it. I turn to my brother and suddenly he bites on his lip.

"What's wrong?"

Suddenly, he is not an excited child anymore. He bursts into wretched tears and my heart races in a wounded panic.

"I don't wanna die," Fission sputters between sobs and sniffles.

Vehemently, I insist, "I won't let you die. I'm going to protect you."

He just shakes his head. "You can't protect me. Nobody can protect me."

Fission wipes his eyes on his sleeve as Cordelia returns.

I watch him force a smile and gently set my hand over my heart.

It hurts. It hurts like I have just been stabbed.

I wish I had just been stabbed.

[X]

As all the tributes wait in a tense, stuffy room for the private evaluations, Enobaria abandons her district partner and sits beside me. My heart skips a beat.

"Let me get one thing straight before we fight each other to the death. I taught Clove everything I know, but nobody ever taught her how to love. You're soft, you're sweet, you're skittish and she's made of knives and broken noses and fistfights in the communal showers. She's probably scared she'll break you. But I'm scare—" She clears her throat and her lip twists in a distasteful snarl that shows the glint of a fang. "But I'm concerned that you will be the one to break her."

"I couldn't break someone," I whisper, trying to avoid eye contact. I know that shows submission in the animal kingdom and I hope it works on people too.

Enobaria snaps, "Yes, you could. You already have. She's not the person I used to know."

"She went through the Hunger Games."

"I know a lot of people who did, and that change didn't come from the Arena. That change came from falling for you."

"She's going to lose me anyway. I'm not letting my brother die. I already know I'm not coming back, okay? She'll go on."

"You can't imagine how much I want to break the rules and punch you in the face right now." She stands up and sits back down beside the boy from Two right as they call the boy from One inside.

I'm baffled, puzzled, confused and everything in between.

I do not believe I will ever have the chance to understand Enobaria Whitethorn before I die.

[X]

I walk to stand before the gamemakers and tremble. All I can manage is to recall what happened last time. How I proved little but being nimble and managing to land a single knife on a target. This time, however, I have been under the training regimen of someone from District Two.

They will be surprised.

"Thank you for attending this show," I say in the loudest, clearest voice I can muster, just like Cordelia said. As a victor, the only thing I must prove is newfound bravery, not that it is real.

I pivot on my heel in the most deliberate motion possible, and walk directly to the trainer waiting in the ring.

"Spar with me," I say, my heart thundering. I do not think I have given an order before this moment, and I can only do it by reminding myself what is at stake.

The trainer nods and I walk to her.

Clove taught me well.

I win three times and then throw three knives before my time runs out.

[X]

After the entire ordeal of a day, "I'm sure you did well," I say to Fission, sipping a cup of mint tea as we wait for the broadcast of the scores.

Cordelia clears her throat and sits down beside me and my brother. We fixate our eyes on the television as it changes to the grand reveal of the numbers that define bets, with an unusual level of bells and whistles.

He murmurs with downcast eyes, "I didn't. I could barely do anything but tie some knots and show them camouflage."

I almost leap forward before I stop myself and steady my teacup. "A large number of victors won by hiding well. The Games aren't always won by the person who spills the most blood. Sometimes they are won by the person who plays it safe."

"Yeah." Fission rubs his arm and looks away.

Cordelia hands him a bar of chocolate and, although his hands shake, he digs into it.

Cashmere scores an admirable ten and her district partner takes an eight. The boy from Two gets a ten, unsurprisingly. But my breath catches in my throat and I almost throw up when Enobaria scores a _twelve_. A _twelve_!

"I don't believe anyone has ever…" Cordelia trails off when she sees the look in my eyes. "Sol, she isn't going to fixate on you. I doubt she has that kind of romantic vendetta."

I shoot to my feet, now certain Cordelia's coaching on confidence has backfired. "We have a _history_! The Games are a good enough incentive to kill someone in vengeance for stealing a cup of pudding! Of _course_ she'll relish killing me over stealing her fiancée!"

"Shh," is Cordelia's only retort.

I sit down and clasp my hands together.

Finnick Odair's picture graces the screen. He scores an eleven. His partner only manages a meager eight. It seems the trends favor victors. Maybe their notoriety counts for a point or two.

I see myself, my own picture, and I feel more fear than I did the first time.

A ten. Not bad at all. Pride swells in my chest.

Then I see Fission. I cross my fingers with high hopes that he will follow in my footsteps and surprise everyone. But he does not. He receives a four, the lowest score yet. Even the teensy girl from District Three beat him out by a point.

I rise and walk away so I can hide my tears.

"Sol!" calls my brother after me. "Sol, please come back!"

I turn around. I have no choice but to return to him.

"I'll protect you. I will protect you. Don't worry."

He replies weakly, "I believe you."

"We'll make a plan. We'll make a plan and if it gets messy we'll make a new plan. I'm great at that. Remember that chore wheel Cordelia hated so much?"

"A chore wheel isn't the same as fighting Enobaria and Cashmere and…"

"It's no different. My talent isn't throwing knives or fighting. My talent is organization and careful thought. You can do that too."

"Okay. I'm gonna try for you. I promise."

I grab him by both shoulders and gently squeeze. "Do more than try."

"I won't leave your side," Fission promises.

A sweet sentiment, but it is not what I wanted to hear.

[X]

Septima makes me a shining rainbow dress for the interviews. It gleams like a prism of light and I never have felt more beautiful. Fission wears a spiffy white suit.

I now sit in front of Caesar, trying not to be too disdainful towards the crowd. The boy from One flashed pretty boy smiles and bat his eyes. Cashmere gave a speech about how much the Capitol meant to her, how much she loved them, and it predictably went over quite well. The boy from two went for quiet, broody and brawny. I am still rattled from Enobaria's interview. The girl from three was mousy and disappointing. Beetee questioned the very nature of the Hunger Games and I could not believe he got away with it. His statements left Caesar stammering. The girl from Four flashed everything in a translucent dress and aimed for the sexy femme fatale angle, seashells in her wavy hair. Finnick Odair declared his love for someone anonymous. Fission fidgeted, just like I told him not to. My brother never was good at listening to me.

And now my turn has arrived.

"We're itching to know if you have a rebuttal to Enobaria's statements."

"I don't. I don't because I knew the whole time. I didn't know while I was in the Arena. But from the moment we woke up after winning, my wife has been honest with me. I allowed the affair, because that's who I am. I'm the kind of person who lets that happen." I cannot hide the bitterness in my words.

"And the second question we all want to know the answer to is this," says Caesar. "Will new blood win or can you, a victor, weather the storm again?"

My answer is no. My answer is no but I refuse to admit it.

I simply state the only alternative option.

"Caesar, I _am_ the storm." I gaze deeply into the glint of the cameras. The audience wildly applauds, hoots and hollers. My stomach turns. "I'm not the sweet, shy flower girl. I'm the soldier of light, and I'm ready for war."

I only realize what I have said after I said it. My cheeks heat and I begin to panic. I have inadvertently acknowledged rebellion, the war that looms on the horizon. I am not ready for it; I do not want it to happen, but there is no way I can take back what I accidentally said.

"Such confidence! I always knew you had it in you."

"Thank you," I say, shrinking.

"Now, the heartbreaking question; Miss Whitethorn or not, how does this affect you and Clove? You are Panem's favorite love story, now threatened by the perils of the Arena."

"I will always love her, until I draw my last breath. And I just hope she knows I love her too. I hope she knows that I mean this and that this is real."

"If you knew you would be separated again, if you knew you would enter the Arena again, would you still have been willing to die to be with her?"

"Yes. If I knew the end of my story, I still would've pulled out those berries."

"I know what I would most want to know from my husband if he had to go into the Games. So, tell me, what do you love most about Clove?"

I think for a moment, prepared to tell the truth. Honestly, I never thought about it, but now I say with glazed, dry eyes, "She sings me to sleep when I'm scared at night, and she stands up for herself no matter what, and she always keeps her promises."

Caesar touches his heart with his unoccupied hand. "Beautiful words. It seems we're out of time, so I'll wish good luck to the soldier of light."

I awkwardly bow before I walk away from the spotlight.

The moment I stand backstage, someone grabs me with strong, enticing arms and pulls me into a fiery kiss. The moment it breaks, Clove spins me around to face her.

"I'd do it again too. I'd do it again in a fucking heartbeat."

"That means more to me than it must to you. You would've won if I didn't…"

"I could've. I would've. But I didn't, and there's a reason I didn't, a reason I don't regret."

We kiss. We kiss like it is the first time and the last time.

Clove steps away first. I try not to look upset.

"I have to check on my tribute," she says, and I feel only bitterness.

There she goes, off to Enobaria. They begin to talk. Enobaria squeezes Clove's shoulder. When I see them together, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach and my heart shatters into pieces. I feel as if the Universe is collapsing, that the sky is falling, that the stars are exploding. Only then do I realize that I am deeply and irrevocably in love with Clove Conium.

And she is not deeply and irrevocably in love with me.

[X]

 _Five._

I see hedges and thick foliage, overgrown walls that look like ruins.

 _Four._

I see a pool of crystalline water in the center of the ring of tributes.

 _Three._

I look around and realize the Arena is a maze with twelve entrances leading away from the small courtyard where the bloodbath will happen two seconds from now.

 _Two._

I see Fission directly across from me, staring right at his big sister, waiting for me to help him.

 _One._

The moment the bloodbath begins, before I can even get my bearings, I watch the tribute from District Two grab onto my brother. Helpless, I let out a wordless cry as the sword plunges into him from behind and soars out the other side, sticking out of his chest. I scream, I scream, I cannot stop screaming.

Someone grabs me from behind and I think I scream, but I am broken, broken, broken and the world no longer makes a sound. I do not even know who is carrying me until he sets me down in the foliage, my back resting against the maze wall. Finnick Odair carried me away from the bloodbath. I suppose he honors his promises; that might be the most I can hope for in here.

"Fission…" is all I can murmur.

"I know. He's gone, you're in shock, but he's gone, and now you need to focus. Can you focus on me, Five?" Pause. "Can you focus on me, Solanine Conium?"

I snap up. "Yes," I breathe.

"Good. That's a start. We need to find our allies because you can bet the careers have just finished cleaning house."

"This isn't how it's supposed to happen," I whisper, tears trickling from my eyes. "He died _first_. He was supposed to _win_ but he died _first_."

Finnick squeezes my shoulder and I find it oddly comforting. "I know it hurts, but you need to move on. There's time to grieve for him later."

"No… no we can go back. We can go back and help him. Cordelia or Mags can send us a—send us a medical kit. We don't know he's dead."

"He's dead. No one survives that and even if he has a breath left in him, we're not surgeons or even able to do more than—"

"You tie knots. You tie knots."

"That isn't the same as saving someone from a severed spinal cord and all that blood."

I suddenly realize we might drown; I feel raindrops on my skin, on the palms that rest on my lap. "Finnick, will the maze flood from the rain?"

He furrows his brow. "What rain?"

"The rain. I feel it."

He whispers anxiously, "There's no rain."

I blink and it seems to intensify. "Then where is the water coming from?"

"You're crying. You're crying, Sol."

I touch my face.

[X]

That evening, Finnick and I just wander in the maze. We do not encounter a mutt or another tribute, which is foreboding. I hope that the gamemakers pay us no mind because the careers are showing remarkable talent.

We stop and sit down at the foot of one of the many crumbled statues that line the maze. Finnick says something I do not hear because the Capitol anthem drowns out his words.

I look up at the sky and wait for the faces to appear.

Maybe Fission is alive. Maybe we can go back. Maybe Haymitch and Prim or Beetee helped him. Prim would help him. Prim's mother is a doctor.

At last, the slideshow starts with the little boy from three, I clench my fists at Fission's picture because all of the hope I held in my heart dies. Next appears the little girl from six, the little boy from seven, the little boy from eight, the little girl from nine, both tributes from ten and the little girl from eleven. I am startled when the Capitol seal appears in the sky and all falls silent. So few died the first day. I cannot imagine the viewers are very pleased.

"I'm thirsty, Finnick," I whisper, touching my damp cheek.

Almost the second I speak, a parachute floats down. Not from Cordelia, but from Mags and the man I did not recognize. Finnick opens two bottles of water. He hands one to me and I slosh a little bit out onto the ground because my hands shake so violently. I think I might be sobbing. Finnick grabs onto my wrists and helps me steadily lift the bottle to my lips.

"You're gonna be okay," Finnick says.

"You pity me, don't you?"

"I sympathize with you. That's different from pity. You don't want to be alone. I understand that. Your wife is watching you and spending her money on the person who wants to rip out your throat with her teeth. Your brother is gone. Do you have parents? I didn't see any at the wedding."

"My father left when I was young and died on the streets. My mother was executed for crimes against the Capitol. I took care of Fission. Or maybe he took care of me. I bet everyone in Panem is angry that I lived and he died."

"That isn't true. He was a good kid, but you're a celebrity. You're the Flower Girl, and Flower Girl, I have a gift for you."

"Hmm?" I turn to him and watch him place a wreath made from ivy atop my head.

"I picked it from the maze while we were walking. My knot tying skills turn out to translate fantastic to jewelry making. No wonder so many people in Four sell those shell necklaces."

"Thank you. Would you make jewelry if you weren't a victor?"

"Yeah. I love fishing and boating, but I love tying knots most of all. What would you do if you weren't a victor?"

"I'd be a muttation hunter."

"A muttation hunter? Now that's unique."

I giggle and he silently laughs.

"But I wouldn't kill them. I'd just take lots of pictures and make books about them, and study them and their habits."

"Well, I'm on board with that. It sounds a lot more fun than jewelry." He smiles at me.

"I think I know why people like you so much."

"Because I'm a gorgeous Adonis?"

I dreamily reply, still feeling worlds away from the maze, "Because you know how to make people calm and feel good, just by talking to them."

He softly smiles.

"You're a good kid, Solanine Jones."

"Conium," I correct, refusing to forget Clove. "Solanine Conium."

"Solanine Conium," repeats Finnick Odair, touching my shoulder.

I rest my head on his shoulder and cry myself to sleep.

[X]

"Sol, get up!" screams Finnick, tugging me to my feet.

I open my eyes and look down. "I didn't cry that much."

"Flash flood," says Finnick as the water rises from our toes to knees in seconds. "It's a flash flood and we need to move."

"I can't swim!" I shriek, eyes wide. I run my fingers across my skin, creating red lines all over the porcelain.

Thankfully, he can think quickly like I could before I saw Fission die.

"It's okay. I'm going to hoist you up onto the wall and I'll tread water until it rises enough for me to join you," says Finnick, grabbing me and lifting me up onto his shoulders in one graceful swoop.

He walks through the water now close to his thighs, and I grab onto the top of the maze wall. I pull myself onto it and crouch down to keep my balance.

"Just hold onto my hands. I won't leave you," says Finnick, the water rising to his chest. I hear the whirr of a camera and imagine it wants to take a good look for the drooling populace.

Gently, I take his hands and hold on. He locks eyes with me and I see the hue of the sea. Mine have always been more like the sky on a day that is cloudy and grey but laced with the blue lurking above. I try not to blink.

"Please don't let go," I hysterically beg, voice constricted with emotion.

"I won't," he assuredly replies, but then I hear it.

I hear the wave coming, the rush of water that sweeps him away. I scream and jump up, running across the wall, following him as he keeps steady and swims despite the harsh current. Only Finnick could survive this nightmare the gamemakers have proudly unleashed.

He dives down and I look into the crystalline flash flood to see him clinging onto a statue below. He holds onto the arms of the headless woman as the waves rush over him and at last disappear, draining somewhere in the near distance.

Finnick takes in a huge breath and coughs as he gets to his feet and immediately reaches up to help me back down.

"I suggest we run for a while. I don't like this place," he says and I certainly do not argue.

We set off racing down this row of the maze. I skip and skitter; he moves as smoothly as a gazelle. Suddenly, he grabs me by the waist as we skid to a stop. The maze breaks off, leading down into a sharp plummet. Below, placid water lurks.

Finnick and I both turn, looking for another way out.

I gasp in several panicked breaths. "Let's just wait for the walls to open."

"That would be waiting for muttations or tributes to slaughter us. I swim well; let's see where this water leads."

"Yeah," I say, before remembering the flaw in the plan. "I can't swim, though. I can't swim. We can go back to the cornucopia."

He takes a breath. "I'll hold onto you and you'll be fine. You trust me by now, don't you?"

"Let's choose another way into the maze."

"Okay," he agrees, nodding. We turn around before we hear the yelling. A cannon fires and Finnick grabs me again. "Never mind that. Jump."

I break free of him and shove against his chest.

The screams behind us intensify. I break out in goosebumps.

"I'll follow you down," I say, fully intending to follow through.

"Okay, if you promise."

"I promise, as long as you promise to keep me alive in the water."

"I promise." He leaps right off the cliff into the water below. I step forward to follow him but freeze in place. My eyes drift and see how far the fall truly is. Finnick Odair surfaces and shouts something to me but I do not hear him properly.

I shake my head and run back into the maze.

As providence of plan of gamemakers would have it, the maze groans and opens, revealing a group of people catching their breath. I at first expect the worst; Enobaria and the career pack, but then I see I am in luck. It is Haymitch Abernathy, Primrose Everdeen, Beetee Latier, Cecelia Brandt.

"I saw you with Finnick back at the cornucopia," says Beetee, walking to me and pulling me away from the wall.

"He ran. He was brave. I'm not brave." I shake my head and blink back more tears. I am just a fountain of them this year. I cannot believe I was stronger last time.

Beetee sets his thumb under my chin and lifts it up to lock eyes with me.

"You are brave, Flower Girl. You are braver than you think and I need you to remember that."

"Thank you," I say, and then I turn to his allies.

Primrose pipes up, "I'm sorry about Fission. Are you okay?"

I stand there, dumbstruck. If I cannot even admit to myself that my brother is… gone, how can I admit it aloud? I simply shake my head, lips slightly parted.

"You look so much like Rue," I thoughtlessly say. "I understand now. I understand now that Fission is gone."

Primrose just walks to me and hugs me tightly. I rub her back gently.

Just as she begins to break away, it starts. I turn and see a monster I recognize, a muttation well known by the public of Panem.

It is a minotaur, snarling and frothing at the mouth as it hungrily eyes us.

My alliances disintegrates in our frantic attempt to escape. Prim sticks close to me as the minotaur locks onto us. Of course us. Snow wants me dead more than anyone else in hehre.

I know that well.

"Primrose," I say, "Primrose go with Haymitch."

Before she can act on it or protest, the minotaur gores her. I scream in terror, but no cannon fires. In my panic, I grab her and pick her up. A horn plunges into my arm, but I barely feel the pain as I run with the girl I swore to protect.

Her blood seeps into my clothes and I know she will die soon.

The minotaur keeps chasing us, a bellowing sound escaping its terrifying lips.

Thankfully, the maze opens and I run through the gap in the walls with Primrose in my arms, clinging to my neck.

I slow and start to look around, but then, "Go!" shouts a loud, deep male voice. I spin and see Chaff, the friend of Cordelia's. "Go, run! Run! Run!"

Primrose tugs on me but I wait a beat to see what we may be dealing with. A curved knife rests on his throat. I recognize it as the type Clove uses, and then I watch it slit open his throat. Blood spurts everywhere and I suddenly am not in a maze. I am in a forest. I am staring at Thresh, offering him a bracelet right before his blood splatters all over my body.

Chaff's body drops. A cannon fires. I see fangs and narrowing eyes.

"Hello, Mrs. Conium," breathes Enobaria Whitethorn.

But I am still stuck with Thresh. I am still there while Clove kills him and I taste his blood.

"Sol!" screams Prim and I snap back into reality. She tugs on me again and I start to run, supporting most of her light bodyweight.

We run as fast as we can. The maze groans and opens again and I drag Primrose through the fresh opening. It quickly closes behind us and we collapse, slumping down against ivy-covered stone.

I close my eyes and open them, taking slow breaths.

When I turn to my side, I see the extent of Prim's injuries with horror, and then feel the agonizing pain of my own as the adrenaline dies down.

[X]

I lie against the wall of the maze with Primrose resting on me. Her breath is shallow. I think mine is too. We both bleed and shiver and the sun begins to set and the cold comes eerily quickly.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's okay," she softly says, murmuring through heavy lips.

I close my eyes then force them open. I know I must stay alert and protect us through the night. She needs to rest, or maybe I should keep her awake, I do not know what to do about the injuries. I just wonder if I will die holding this innocent little girl, unable to save her, unable to save Fission, unable to save myself.

I'm useless.

I always was, without someone to protect me.

Then I hear the maze groan and see the flashlights. My heart stops. We will not bleed out against this tree, softly and sweetly. The careers will butcher us. I do not even want to think about what a jealous Enobaria could do to me. What a cruel Cashmere could do to Primrose.

I hear the laughter of the monster who killed my brother before I hear the rest of them. Slowly, I push Primrose behind me and force myself to my feet.

"Back off," I growl, holding up my knife. That only makes the boy who killed Fission laugh harder. "Oh? Real knee-slapper, is it? I'll show you funny, you sick fuck!"

I begin to step forward but Primrose clings to me. Her wounds.

"Scared, Five?" he mocks.

"No," I say. "You're the one who should be scared."

"Of that little knife?" He smirks.

That one smug look on the face of my brother's killer prompts me to do one thing and one thing only. I throw the knife, and then clamp my hand over my mouth when it shears off the better chunk of his ear. He is too shocked to murder me, and his allies arrive on the scene a split second later.

"Who took off your ear, Two?" purrs Cashmere, and the boy keeps screaming hysterically. She turns to Enobaria. "They don't raise 'em like they used to in your district, do they?"

I creep towards the shadows and pick up Prim. We must run; there is no other choice.

He points accusingly at me and I freeze in place. I will not survive if I run while every career has their eyes glued on me.

The boy from District One laughs. "That little thing? That little thing chopped your ear off?"

The boy from District Two grabs him by the throat and smashes him against the wall of the maze. He smashes the back of One's head against the stone.

My attention drifts to Enobaria, Cashmere, and the girl from Four. They advance on me and Prim, and I do not know what I can do. My heart pounds uncontrollably in my chest.

"How should we kill them?" asks Cashmere.

"Please," I softly beg. "Enobaria, please."

"Quickly. They aren't worth the trouble of making it painful," says my wife's lover.

"Oh, come on. You aren't _soft_ for them, are you?"

"Please, please…" I do not even know what I am doing anymore. "Sh-she would want us to fight together. It'll hurt her less."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Enobaria raises a blade. She eyes it happily then gazes at me hungrily and I know my time has probably come.

I plead, my voice certain and crisp for the first time since I lost Fission, "We fight together, then we duel it out in the end. You know she would never forgive you any other way."

"She isn't worth it," hisses Cashmere Cross to the uneasy-looking Enobaria Whitethorn. Their mini-career companions wait, staring, save for the boy still grasping at the profusely bleeding spot where his ear once was.

"And I am? You can kill everyone in this Arena. You know that."

"Then why do you want to be up against me in the end?"

"Because that way I know somebody is going home to her," I say and Enobaria's eyes light up like my cat when I offer her scraps of meat. "That way I know somebody is going to take care of her after I'm gone. My brother died, my mother… I have nobody else left I love. Just Clove, and if she can't have me, I want her to have you."

Cashmere snaps, "I do like begging, but this is getting boring fast," and raises her axe.

Enobaria groans and her allies all look at her, including the two boys in the midst of a fist fight over a small comment. She snaps into action like a beautiful, terrifying hurricane, starting her attack by slashing the side of Cashmere's face. I can see why Clove loves her.

She stabs the girl from Four in the throat and a cannon fires a sole second later. Then she pivots to face the boys. They take one look at her and freeze in place. I expect better from career tributes, but I cannot blame them after what I just saw.

The boy from One brandishes his sword and Enobaria throws Primrose over one shoulder and me over the other. She runs through the maze as fast as the wind despite the weight of two human beings on top of her.

We run for what feels like ages before she sets us down and catches her breath.

"Are we allies now?" I breathlessly ask, realizing how clear and calm the world has become. My nerves about Primrose are no longer out of control; instead, I am thinking of ways to help her. The maze is clear in my eyes instead of walls choking me at every second.

I am focused. I am finally focused.

"If she can't have me, I want her to have you. So, I'm taking you to the end, and no further than that," coldly states Enobaria.

"Thank you," I say, glad for the lack of a tremor in my voice.

"I'm not doing it for you," snarls Enobaria. She then turns to Primrose. "She's in bad shape. Do you want to leave the literal deadweight or should I examine her?"

"Examine her," I desperately plead.

"If we leave her, you technically don't have her blood on your hands, and you're one step closer to Clove."

"I promised Katniss Everdeen I would protect her. I don't care about anyone else in this Arena. Just you and her."

Enobaria holds up her bloody knife. "You can fight me, if you want. That means you still upheld your promise."

"No!" I cry, shooting to my feet. "I'll kill you if you lay a finger on her!"

Enobaria lets me get a punch in before she dives down to stab Primrose, but she restrains herself when a parachute falls from the sky beside her. She seizes it, a gift from Clove. When she opens it, I see an entire medical kit.

"Conium, you bitch," mutters Enobaria at the glimmer of a camera lens.

Kneeling beside the barely-conscious Primrose Everdeen, Enobaria picks up the package and withdraws numerous instruments and bottles of chemicals that look like they should not be in the hands of an amateur.

"Never thought I'd say these words in here but I'm going to try to save her. It's your lucky day, Foxy," says Enobaria. She grabs the scalpel then dips it in one of the bottles, and I begin to panic. This cannot be happening. Swiftly, she runs it across Primrose's leg. The blood gushes out on to me and the little girl begins screaming uncontrollably. "Shut her up!" growls Enobaria. "Shut her up before anyone hears!"

I do not know what to do. I sit there kneeling, mute, useless.

Enobaria sighs and unzips the front of her jumpsuit. She removes her shirt and shoves it into Primrose's mouth.

"Hold that there while I do this!" she orders, saliva flying from fangs.

I dare not disobey, just mutter apologies to Primrose under my breath.

* * *

 _ **CLOVE**_

* * *

I have to hold back vomit when I see the reaping for District 5. Foxy, Foxy, Foxy. _Why_? How can she do this to me? How can Enobaria do this to me? I leap to my feet and run to the bathroom where I hurl in the sink. Stuffing my face to avoid conversation with my mentee now seems like a _terrible_ idea. Although, it seemed like a good one at the time.

 _I watch the silent doctor wrap my wound and inject something into it. Probably to combat infection or rust or something like that. My mentor has done nothing but glower at me since they fished me out of the water and I cannot blame her, nor can I show the pain I am in._

 _Enobaria smashes her fist down on her desk but I am wise enough not to flinch. "Clove Conium," she exasperatedly barks, "why in_ Panem _would you jump into a Quarry?"_

 _I answer in utter earnest, "It seemed like a good idea at the time, sir."_

 _Her lips twist, revealing fangs that no longer frighten me but certainly remind me who I am dealing with._

 _Then she laughs. She laughs._

In the present, in the fuzzy, fuzzy present, she approaches from behind. I hear her boots thudding softly on the rattling floor of the train.

"You two ruined me," I snarl, trying to sound fearsome despite slurring words. My mouth is numb. I feel like a puppet talking but I can't be scared. I can't be scared about anything other than the Reapings I just watched. "You two ruined me! YOU TWO RUINED ME!"

I spin to see her standing there stoically, calmly, a wall, a beautiful wall. And I hate her. I hate her so much I want to rip her smug throat out with my dull teeth.

When I throw a punch, she grabs it without hesitation. I suppose her reflexes are better than mine after I drank half a liquor cabinet in an hour's time. Or maybe I'm just not as good as her. Maybe I never was.

"I think we were just returning the favor," says Enobaria, crossing her arms.

For a split second, I see red. I am going to kill her. I decide to kill her.

Instead, I feel my lips trembling. Tears start rolling from my eyes and I could not be more ashamed. Especially when I sniffle and choke. Especially when I can't make them stop.

"Th-then you might, might not survive me the first time, huh?"

"Drink some coffee, soldier," snaps Enobaria. "We'll be at the Capitol soon."

I rub my eyes when she walks away from me.

Everything spins around me.

[X]

I pour liquor into the coffee and sip it until I am numb and happy and at peace. The calm fuzziness is good. The inability to form complete thoughts means I cannot worry. The spinning lets me leave the Earth. The cool relaxation spreads through loose limbs.

It makes the wait in the Remake Center far easier.

Enobaria steps out in her costume, revealing an unrecognizable woman. She looks beautiful, of course, but in the Capitol way, not like herself. They turned her into a statue of Medusa.

"Conium, are you drunk?"

I laugh airily, pleased with the effects. "Nope. Just on a liquid diet."

Her hand twitches like she wants to slap me, but she holds back.

"You aren't helping anybody by numbing your _feelings_. Just shove them somewhere safe until you have the time to grieve. Right now, you need to be a halfway decent mentor; one Abernathy is enough. You hear me?" Enobaria's lip twists into a snarl, revealing one glittering fang.

I can only say the words hammered into my head by years of training. "Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed, Conium. Go to the stands and talk to reporters. Try not to embarrass me."

"Yes, sir," I force myself to say against my will.

I snort and let Brutus do the talking. They all keep shoving microphones in my face asking about Foxy, asking about the magazine with Enobaria. I just glare at anyone who attempts to interview me, and it scares them off.

Everyone watches me while I watch the parade.

I cannot help but smile a little bit when I see how Foxy glows, how she erupts into flowers.

[X]

When we reach the apartment, Enobaria tears off everything in her costume but the slip and the makeup. False snakes from her hair slither on the ground until they fall limp.

Enobaria snarls, fists clenched, "Conium, get some sleep. I need you focused while you learn about sponsoring from Brutus."

I blink as Tiberius walks off with his mentor. I wish she did not hate me, and I suddenly want to cry, a feeling I never have experienced before. Must be the alcohol. Guess it has downsides.

I ask under my distillery-scented breath, "Why are we like this? Are we like this now? Are we just back to before…?"

Enobaria says with little remorse in her tone, "Before we broke countless regulations and disregarded any common sense, you mean?"

I correct, "Before we got together. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about us after all that happened. After all of it."

"Maybe you should realize by now that what we did was a mistake."

I bristle and bare my pathetic, dull teeth, "Maybe you should realize by now that I don't give a damn what you think, _sir_."

Enobaria rolls her eyes. "Think what you want and I think what I want. Nothing matters anymore. You get that right? Nothing matters anymore."

I cannot help but ask my mentor turned tribute the question that buzzed in my mind for days. It will not leave me alone.

"Are you scared?" I cautiously inquire. "Are you scared to go back in there?"

Enobaria answers my question with a question, not at all to my surprise. "What did they teach you at the Academy? What's the first lesson about the Games?"

I blink and think. "Assume you're already dead before you walk into the Arena."

Enobaria sharply nods and cracks her knuckles pointedly. "Yeah. I'm dead. I'm a dead woman walking and I'm fine with it. I told myself that when I was your age and in my first games. I'm telling myself that this time. The only thing I'm afraid of is the concern that Hell is going to be a lonely place and I'm going to fill it up with every tribute son of a bitch I can find. Got it?"

"Got it."

An avox arrives bearing a letter. I snatch it and look away from the former rebel. Quickly, I tear open the envelope, read it, and then hand it to Enobaria.

After she looks over the direct order from Plutarch Heavensbee, she orders in the voice she would use as my superior at the Academy, "Go comfort your wife. Don't make what I did to set up that meeting meaningless."

"Yes, sir." I want to stay with her, but then I think of Foxy. She is probably afraid. Enobaria is not. Foxy will be. And that means she needs me more than Enobaria does.

I slide on my shoes and walk out the door to the glistening glass elevator.

When I reach the bottom, I see Foxy standing by the fountain. Only her red hair and the silhouette of her figure, but I could recognize her anywhere. She stares hypnotically at the water, at the statues that feed the pool below.

"Hey," I say.

My wife slowly turns around. "Hey," she whispers.

I watch her wipe tears from her glittery ice blue eyes with the back of her trembling hand and feel like someone stabbed me in the gut with a blunt blade.

"How's your brother?"

"Stronger than I thought."

"Are you doing okay?" I realize I care. I really care. I want her to be okay. I want her to _live_. I want Enobaria to live. I never thought I'd have to choose between them but when I look into the eyes of Solanine Conium I realize that Enobaria has my loyalty, but Sol has my love.

Loyalty or love. Which is more important to me?

"No. I'm not okay," says Foxy, shaking her head. I walk closer to her and take her hands in mine. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have…"

"Damn straight!" I cannot help but snap. It makes her flinch. "You promised not to volunteer for a reason!"

"I know." Foxy stares at her feet for a moment.

"You're risking your life and you broke your promise to me!"

"It's the second part that really bothers you, isn't it?"

"Yes. Because when _I_ say I'm going to do something. I _do it_."

Foxy looks up. "I'm sorry about Enobaria. I know it must hurt."

"No. No it doesn't."

"You smell like a distillery. Your hair and eyes are off. You're in pain."

"It's only reasonable that I don't want to lose you both."

Foxy suddenly steps back. My eyes flash wide. "Oh. So these Games are just a convenient way for you to break a tie? End a love triangle? Whoever lives wins your affection?"

"No! No. It's not like that." I lunge towards her but she nimbly steps away. "I love you both. I don't love anybody else in the world. I'm scared of losing either one of you. I'm scared I'll lose you both. Okay? I'm scared. Is that vulnerable enough for your standards?"

Foxy rubs her arm. "No," she says and I feel like she slapped me in the face. "I don't want you to open up to get what you want or to calm me down. I want you to trust me."

"I don't. Of course I don't. I barely know you!"

"I know," Foxy whispers. "I _know_. We don't trust each other and that's okay. You trust Enobaria. Save her."

"Save her? Do you want to die or something? Is that why you volunteered?"

"I don't know why I volunteered. I've been trying to figure it out from the moment I did it. But I know that you love her more than—"

"Foxy! Foxy, don't make me choose."

 _Loyalty,_ I have already decided. Loyalty is more important than love.

Foxy is the smartest person I have ever met, so I'm unsurprised that she quickly catches on. "You don't want me to make you choose because you'd choose her."

I am struck speechless, because I cannot think of a lie to save my ass.

All I can say is, "You're right."

Foxy says under her breath, "I'll see you when the Games are over. Maybe."

She runs to the elevator.

I don't stop her.

[X]

I dream about killing Cato again.

When I wake up, I feel I still live in the nightmare. The world does not feel real.

Only the Arena is real. Only Cato at the edge of my sword.

I shiver in bed.

Never before have I felt so alone.

[X]

In the morning, before we are to send our tributes to train, Brutus snorts when he sees me pouring a bottle of vodka into a bowl of sugary cereal. "I didn't take you as the booze in your breakfast type, Conium."

I consider just brushing him off before I bluntly remark, "They're a decent way to numb the pain in the morning. Better than a whole handful of Capitol pain pills."

He shrugs. "Whatever works. Doubt Enobaria approves of your very fast descent into alcoholism."

I glower. "It isn't alcoholism. I'm just binge drinking until the Games are over. Then I'm probably back to normal."

"You won't be back to normal. One of your girls is going to die. Maybe both. You're tough, yeah. I'll give you that. You wouldn't be chosen for the Games a year early if you weren't. But you're going to hate Enobaria if she comes back and Five doesn't, and you're going to hate Five if she comes back and Enobaria doesn't, and you're going to hate yourself if neither one comes back."

"They both are mad at me so I'm trying not to think about it."

"You managed to piss them both off?"

"Somehow."

Brutus laughs. I take another sip.

When Enobaria enters the room, she shoots me a glare before opening the door.

And Brutus gives me a look. "I guess you did a good one on her."

I irately shove a spoonful of my disgusting mixture into my mouth.

[X]

I spend a whole day shadowing Brutus while he charms sponsors. It surprises me what that man can do, but I generate a few of my own ideas before the day is done. Of course, I follow at least _some_ District Two regulations, and I am not to speak to a single sponsor before Enobaria becomes my sole tribute and I have learned the ropes.

In the evening, Enobaria and Tiberius return to the second floor dripping with sweat. Enobaria pointedly licks her lips when she sees me.

"I need a shower. A very lonely shower." She strides away. My chest hurts.

Tiberius rubs his neck. "I stink. I better grab one too."

I seize his arm. He sneers at me before his eyes flash. I know that look; he just offended a superior and expects repercussions. I decide not to give him any.

"Hey," I say, locking eyes with him, "I need you to do me a favor."

"I'm not sparing your wife," he spits and I have the urge to beat some sense into him. But that is against Hunger Games regulations, so I restrain myself.

"Not what I'm asking for. I need you to kill her brother first. He needs to die first."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because my wife is going to risk her cute little ass trying to save him if he doesn't die immediately. What's to lose? The kid's easy pickings and you can get to your relentless slaughter when you're done with him. I'll sweeten the deal and help Brutus get you all the sponsors you need if he is the first to die in that Arena."

He smiles. "Yeah. I can do that."

"Good." I pat his back and stride away.

[X]

I dream about killing Cato again.

After the dream, I sit up straight in the bed and when someone touches my shoulder I scream. Enobaria clamps her hand over my mouth and pulls me close to her, my back pressing against her chest and abs. I don't remember being beside her but it must have happened at some point. She slowly removes her palm from my lips.

"Nightmare?" murmurs Enobaria.

"Of course," I breathe.

She kisses my neck. "Let's forget about that for a while. I'll _help_ you forget about it for a while. There's only one good way to spend your last days on Earth."

I lean into her and let her remove my shirt.

[X]

The phone rings in the dead of the night. I groan and shove my face into my pillow, waiting lividly for the unwanted sound to go away. My sleep is disrupted enough without this. Suddenly, my door opens and an avox girl hands me the phone.

I lift it up to my ear as the avox leaves.

" _Hi, Clove,"_ says the unmistakable voice of my wife.

"Foxy, I don't think we're supposed to be using these."

 _"I need you to sing me to sleep."_

I hesitate for a moment. "I thought you were mad at me."

 _"Do you want me to be mad at you."_

"I dunno. I just like you a lot. Try not to die, okay?"

 _"Okay. Now, can you sing to me, please. I can't sleep. I need your voice."_

I smile like a foolish girl, so unlike the monster I love to be. " _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry / go to sleep little Foxy / when you wake / you shall take / all the pretty little horses / blacks and bays / dapples and greys / coach and six little horses / hush-a-bye, don't you cry / go to sleep little Foxy / when you wake / you shall take / all the pretty little horses_."

When I finish singing, I notice the damp tears on my cheeks. I am Clove Conium and I do not cry, and I certainly do not cry over a stupid lullaby.

" _Goodnight,"_ sleepily murmurs Foxy.

"Goodnight," I quietly reply.

I cannot bring myself to hang up for ages, but at last I manage.

[X]

I tried to coach Enobaria for her interview. I told her to be scary and sexy, like she always was. She kissed my neck and nipped at my ear. Now I just have to hope she does not do anything crazy. She just has to play it cool and we can win.

But Caesar immediately goes for the throat by asking, "Now, can I ask about that popular magazine photo a few months ago? It was the bestselling copy in history, but not a single statement about the scandalous pic of you kissing Clove Conium!"

Enobaria hesitates. "Would you like the truth?"

"Always!" chimes Caesar, brightly grinning as my heart drops into the pit of my stomach.

"I have been in an affair with Clove since before her Games began. That ring wasn't Cato's," says Enobaria and Caesar's overly-plucked neon eyebrows shoot up. "It was from me. I was going to marry her when she won, but that didn't happen."

Caesar makes some sound of sympathy that makes me want to punch his lights out.

"And, of course, you must have been heartbroken by Clove and Solanine in the Arena. Nothing hurts more than watching the person you love fall in love with someone else."

"It was painful, but I am strong. I knew Solanine was a hidden threat, and I knew she would help my love to survive. I just didn't expect them to be so in love they would die for each other. Still, I had Clove. She stayed with me. We slept in the same bed in all the months leading up to the Victory Tour. We slept with each other, and skinny dipped, and went on day trips. I kissed her on their wedding day. The whole time, I had half of Clove and Solanine had the other half. I thought we could keep our secret. I truly did. But I was wrong."

Silence.

"Ah! It wounds the heart. Now, answer the question of the night for me, if you will. Do you think new blood or old blood will take the crown?"

"New blood and old blood all looks the same to me, and I plan to spill an ocean of it before I win," says Enobaria with confidence. She bares her teeth and they glisten in the spotlights.

Even Caesar cannot help but reveal his fear. I only feel pride. Pride, and love, and loyalty. A mixture of feelings that surge in me for only one person other than Enobaria Whitethorn.

"Powerful words. I'm as impressed as ever!" Caesar grins.

When Enobaria smiles at the crowd, cheers ripple through it.

Tears blossom in my eyes but I beat them back before they can break free.

[X]

While Primrose Everdeen gets choked up over Katniss and Caesar convincingly feigns sympathy, I run to Foxy. We had an interaction after her interview, an interaction that awakened something in me. We kissed like we never had before.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she replies, turning around.

"That wasn't enough. That wasn't enough for me."

"Yeah, well, a lot wasn't enough, but we didn't have the time."

"I…"

"It wasn't in the stars. I've accepted that. I'm worried about my brother. I know you'll be okay. You're the strongest person I've ever met in my life. I'm going to die, Clove. I'm going to die, because I won't let Fission die. And if it's between me and Enobaria, she'll win. I know I will die, and I want you to acknowledge that you know that too."

"I don't know that. And you don't know that either. Unless you pull out some berries and kill yourself, you don't know you'll die."

"I'm ready." Foxy walks to me.

She licks her lips. I take a step back.

"I can't."

"You can't kiss me? You can't kiss me because I told you the truth. I thought you were Clove Conium. Clove Conium doesn't need to be coddled."

"I don't need to be coddled, but I don't really think I'm that Clove Conium anymore either. I can't kiss you because we were never meant to be, because you are soft and sweet and I'm made of knives. I don't know how to kiss you and mean it because I don't know if I love you or not. And you deserve better than that. Nobody ever loved me like you love me and I don't know what to think. I just want to retreat. I want to take steps backwards. Maybe it's good we have to break apart because you'd crumble under the weight of my sins. You're too tiny. You'd break into splinters. Not everything can be fixed with a little love and maybe some pretty words and a plan. Not everything can be fixed with a _plan_. 'cause I never planned for anything we ever did together. And, really, the real thing, the real thing is that you are good. You're made of flowers. You're clever. You're kind. You felt pain when you killed someone. You're _good_ and I can't ruin one more good thing."

She begins to cry.

I want to hold her, but I just listed all the reasons why I should walk away.

So, I do.

[X]

The thing is, I was happier when my heart was made of nothing but stone and dust. Foxy grew flowers there and I will always hate her for it. She made me weak. Makes me weak. But I love her anyway and I am confused beyond belief.

The thing is, I was happier when I thought about diamond crowns and believed victory was something else entirely. Enobaria made me feel things I didn't know existed and I will always hate her for it. She made me into the person she wanted to be. Makes me into the person she wants me to be. But I love her anyway and I am confused beyond belief.

I want to kiss them both, but Foxy is off limits and Enobaria is gone before I get to her.

While I stand mute in Enobaria's empty bedroom, gazing at the messy sheets, Brutus approaches and roughly taps my back.

"We have to get to the viewing plaza. If you want your gal pal to live, you better work your ass off because there are a fuckton of favorites on the screen."

He is right, so I rub my arm and nod.

"Just let me get dressed."

Brutus grunts, "Show some cleavage if you want the big bucks."

"Note taken, sir," I grimly reply, rolling my eyes once he looks away.

I stalk off to get dressed.

[X]

An hour later, I sit among the colorful Capitolians, watching two kids fighting with plastic swords while I wait for the Games to begin. Newscasters speculate on the myriad screens. I walk to the lobby for District Two and sit down inside. It has quite the crowd. The only rival is District One, and perhaps District Four thanks to Finnick Odair.

The Games begin and the sound in the Capitol is thunderous. Only one thing pounds louder: my heart in my chest.

I watch the bloodbath. Tiberius does as I said and kills Fission first. The careers give a glamorous slaughter before choosing weapons. Enobaria grabs her favorite curved knives, Tiberius takes a sword, Cashmere grabs a long blade, her boy companion takes the bow and arrows, and the girl from District Four takes a dagger in each hand. The hulking young boy chosen as an unlikely career from Seven chooses an axe, of course.

The boy from One complains, "This has to be the smallest bloodbath in history! The maze made it too fucking easy to escape!"

Tiberius says, "He has a point. We better split up. There are too many entrances in the maze."

"No," states Enobaria. "We do not split up. We are the career _pack_ and we stay together. The maze will hold a number of surprises, I promise you that. We'll find prey."

"Well, I disagree, and so does Glisten," says Tiberius. Glisten, a dumber name than Glimmer or Gloss or Marvel. "Probably Aspen too."

The boy from Seven just grunts.

"Do you agree with the title career _pack_ ," snarls Enobaria.

"Yeah," says Tiberius as Enobaria approaches him. She is smaller than him, thinner and shorter, but she might as well tower above him.

"A pack has an alpha," says Enobaria, now so close to Tiberius I bet she can smell his breath. She growls her next words. "And the alpha is the beast with the biggest fangs."

Tiberius swallows and I watch his Adam's apple roll. The camera even zooms in on his fear.

Cashmere touches Enobaria's shoulder. "The ones with the most experience make the decisions, children. Tiberius, Glisten, Saylor, you are little babies. The eldest of you is fourteen. You will shut up and follow the orders Enobaria and I give."

"If any one of you says a word, I will bite your hand off," hisses my former fiancée.

Silence from the trio of baby careers.

I could not be prouder of my girlfriend.

[X]

A potential sponsor enters the District Two lobby. With her, she drags a little boy. Something washes over me when I see his ginger hair and grey eyes. He has a pout on him as he whines about wanting one of the swords like the other kids.

I kneel down. "You can play with me. That's way better than a plastic sword."

His eyes light up. "Clove?"

"In the flesh, kiddo."

His mother smiles broadly. Her teeth have diamonds embedded in them.

"I was going to sponsor Finnick Odair, but Zale just adores you and Cato. Poor boy."

I stiffen when she mentions him. I can feel his spine squishing beneath my sword as I killed him. Nausea overwhelms me before I can gather my thoughts.

"Well, how about you work out the monetary particulars with Brutus while I play with Zale. He deserves to meet his hero." This charm _hurts_. It is _hard_ to make these people like me, but I know Enobaria needs me. And I would do anything for her.

I sit down with the kid on one of the minimalist white sofas. He grins at me.

"Thumb war?"

"Sure." I hold out my hand and we grab on. "One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war," we say in unison.

I let him win, and I think about my house in the Capitol, and I think about the spare room that Satin Athens said was perfect for a nursery.

But none of that will ever happen.

I will never have a thumb war with a little girl or boy with bright red hair.

[X]

I do not sleep that night.

I refuse to dream of Cato. I refuse to stop worrying about Enobaria and Foxy.

All I know about Foxy is what I see on the reruns in my bedroom. Her loss of Fission drove her insane. She lost her mind. She's a ghost in that Arena crying nonstop and unsure where she even is, a far cry from the strong contender she was last year.

It is only a matter of time before that gets her killed.

How could I sleep?

[X]

In the morning, I shrug off my sleepless discomfort and watch Enobaria.

The careers did the traditional rotation of watches in the maze. Nothing came to disturb them; the focus was on the little gang of District Twelve, the nerd, and the woman with the highest kill count in Hunger Games history, as the news constantly reminds me.

Enobaria stands with Cashmere as they drink water gifted to District One.

"We should ally with each other," says Enobaria. "You and me. I'm already sick of these kids and I think we should use them to take out a couple more then slit their useless throats."

"Well, I always thought you didn't like me," says Cashmere, running her fingers through her hair and smirking faintly.

"I don't like anyone," says Enobaria and I almost laugh. "But I tolerate you fine. I tolerate you enough to make a mini alliance. You and me to the end. Then we fight it out."

Cashmere blinks twice. I cross my fingers beneath my right knee, holding my breath.

"Sure," she purrs. "I like you far more than our companions."

They jump up for some reason. Enobaria leans like she does when she eavesdrops and so I know they heard something.

Then the pursuit of amputee from District Eleven begins.

It is long. The maze throats serpents at them as they continue to follow him.

And I almost think he will escape, before I jump up and see Foxy and the little District Twelve girl to whom she gave flowers. I keep shaking my head, thinking constantly, _move, move, move, you moron, MOVE!_

At last, she runs.

And then the camera returns to Enobaria, leaving her kill and returning to Cashmere.

They walk back to their gang and then end up running from a minotaur.

I am useless. I do not speak to a single sponsor as I cling in fear to my seat. We have funds. I know that. But how can any amount of money stop a raging _minotaur_?

It takes out the boy from Seven in a gruesome death that pleases everyone around me. Enobaria climbs up a wall to escape and the other careers follow her. They run forward and a wall of the maze opens with a groan, revealing Foxy and Primrose.

The boy from Two gets there first.

I think this is it. I think Enobaria will kill Foxy, or maybe Foxy will awaken that darkness in her that stabbed Glimmer over and over in the neck.

But I could never predict what happens.

I could never predict their _alliances._

Brutus grabs me. "Enobaria's yours. I've gotta deal with Tiberius's ear, the idiot. Give her something to either put that girl out of her misery or save her."

"Save her? I'm not keeping more people alive."

"I don't give a damn. Just do something about that situation if you want your wife and your mistress to get along." He walks away to deal with Tiberius's missing ear.

After scrolling through the tablet for the most expensive and elaborate medical kit, I press the button on my tablet and watch the parachute begin to fall on the screen. Enobaria seizes it out of the air and I realize that this is the moment. This is the moment where it _really_ starts. When humanity will be tested. When alliances will be tested. When a tribute does something unexpected and all bets truly are off.

We have a new narrative.

We have something real and genuine.

Star-crossed lovers real and genuine, Finnick Odair batting his eyes real and genuine, Johanna Mason coughing and shivering hours before whipping out an axe real and genuine.

Enobaria and Solanine, teaming up against all odds over love, intending to battle to the death over a woman whose name is known throughout Panem.

As I am thinking through how to encourage this storyline, someone approaches from behind. I expect another potential sponsor, but then I smell the stench of blood and roses. Slowly, I rise, and my heart stops when I stand face to face with a woman who has a rose lapel in her stark white business suit.

"President Snow wishes to speak with you in the private bar room," says the woman, bowing her head.

"Fine," I grunt, irritated.

I need to know what Enobaria does next! Fuck President Snow!

Yet, I follow the slim, skittish secretary to an empty bar. It is eerie and windowless.

"It is lovely to see you, Mrs. Conium," says President Snow, so serpentine.

"Yeah," is all I manage to reply.

"I have made a decision," he says. "You will display your devotion to _your_ tribute in a very dramatic and grandiose gesture."

"Shouldn't I support my wife?"

"You kissed Enobaria and showed the world your support for _her_ before any of this started. You're getting what you want. That is rare. Do not test me."

I do not buy anything he sells. There is no way even the fickle Capitol would suddenly be _so_ Enobaria-focused that it would benefit President Snow. He does not need another love story. He needs Enobaria and Foxy dead to get what he wants.

Then I'll face a little fallout.

Maybe this is the fallout. Maybe he has the overconfidence to already deem them both dead.

But I don't know what he has planned for me after the Quell.

I try to squeeze at least a drop more out of him, "I'm just confused. You want me to make this huge romance with Foxy—Sol—and now you just want me to flip and go full Team Enobaria?"

"Yes, and the reasons are too complex for your dull mind to comprehend."

"You could try me."

"I could, but the most talented and popular dentist in the Capitol will only be kept waiting so long, even for me."

It hits me like a sack of bricks to the gut.

He plans to kill the only two people I love, and he plans to make sure I do not forget how they both ended up in this situation.

I know my fate now.

I am to suffer without reprieve for the rest of my existence.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

* * *

 _ **FOXFACE**_

* * *

Enobaria finishes her work on Prim by injecting her with two shots. She takes a steady, relieved breath as she pulls back from the injured girl. I stare anxiously at Primrose until she at last takes a shuddering breath and her eyelashes flutter.

As Enobaria sets the syringes back into the kit, "What are those?" I demand.

Enobaria coolly explains, without looking up at me, "One is for the pain, the other is to hopefully heal her damaged organ."

"Hopefully?" I touch Prim gently and she wakes to smile at me before drifting away again.

"Look, I think the merciful thing would be for me to jam a knife into her carotid, but I see clearly that this is the only way to cement my alliance with you. I didn't win my Games with brute strength, although, trust me, I probably could have. I play smart."

"Relationships within the Arena are important," I insist.

"Yes, especially when fighting against trained killers, instead of scared wretches. I want to fight you in the end. That's my plan. She won't make it in here very long, no matter what we do. Now, I suggest we return to the Cornucopia."

"Why?"

"For supplies."

"How?"

"What do you mean how?"

"We're in a maze."

"And we'll solve the maze. If you want to work with me, you have to be braver."

"Fine but—"

"You hate it and hate me."

"I don't…"

"Don't lie. I basically stole your girl and humiliated you in front of all of Panem. Of course you hate me."

"It would be easy to say I hate you," I reply, locking eyes with Enobaria for the first time since I was pleading for my life earlier. "But that would be a lie, and I've done too much of that in my life."

Enobaria studies me closely for a moment before turning away and helping Prim into her shoulders.

[X]

Honestly, I am grateful for the protection allying with Enobaria offers. She easily is the strongest and most formidable person in the Arena. On the other hand, she makes Prim harder to protect. Every moment I must watch her to make sure she does not follow through on jamming a knife into Primrose Everdeen's carotid.

We walk endlessly through the maze during what feels like early morning, Enobaria carries the weary and bleary-eyed Prim on her back, and I hold my knife so tightly that my knuckles turn white as we cautiously round the corners and make split second decisions of which way to turn.

We make camp after wandering the maze for an entire day. The Capitol anthem blares and not one face appears in the sky. I'd love to say I was happy no one died, but that would bore audiences. It means that they'll do something to shake it all up.

"A couple years before my Games, there were two kids who raised their little brother like he was their kid," says Enobaria, dragging her knife along the maze wall. It slashes and catches on the countless vines as she moves. "It was kind of weird and creepy since it was a girl and a boy, but, I judged in silence. I never bothered them. They got sent into the Games together. They made the little brother promise to love whoever won."

"Who won?" I ask, turning to her.

Enobaria laughs. "Neither. They both died. That was the year Cashmere won."

"Is there a point to this story?"

"Clove will love whichever one of us comes back. And if neither of us comes back, she's as screwed up as my District Partner was. So I'm getting myself out of here, and if I can't, I'm getting you out of here."

"That little brother was your…"

"Yeah."

I don't sleep when we take a break for a nap.

[X]

As we wander the maze in sweltering heat, "Are you still sure we should be going back to the Cornucopia?" I ask my ally.

Enobaria clenches her fists so tightly that she almost drops both Primrose and her favorite blade. "I will give you the same answer I give you when you ask every hour! Yes. We need supplies."

"Can't we ask Clove?" I squint and she makes a slight hissing sound, like the warning of a rattlesnake. It surrounds her as an aura of formidability.

"Just shut-"

We are interrupted by a sudden opponent materializing. A slightly bloodstained axe swings swiftly at Enobaria's neck. She dodges without compromising Primrose.

"Take the kid!" Enobaria shouts, shoving Primrose in my direction, and the little girl tumbles into my arms.

I shield Prim, backing to the wall of the maze while Enobaria and Johanna clash. I'm wildly impressed by how Enobaria blocks heavy axe blows with only daggers. When the axe slams down for the seventh time, Enobaria dives in and punches Johanna in the gut. She doubles over and drops the axe. Enobaria lunges down to grab it but Johanna composes herself first and kicks Enobaria down to the floor. She raises the axe like an executioner before Enobaria stabs her in the calf, rips the blade down, and then leaps smoothly to her feet.

Johanna limps as she continues the fight. It goes on as they both gather bruises and bleeding injuries, until, finally, Enobaria throws Johanna against the wall and her axe skitters across the maze path.

Johanna bares her teeth, snarling faintly as she tries to get up with her hurt leg and bruised arm. Animals. Both women are animals.

"Do you want more?" hisses Enobaria.

Johanna jumps to her feet. "Maybe I do."

"Stop!" I scream. "Stop! Let's—let's be allies!"

I think I might have become the Queen of Unlikely Hunger Games Alliances by this point, so perhaps I am pushing my luck, but I know I need to try.

Johanna and Enobaria give each other a look. The resentment must have been building for years. Maybe I cannot remedy it but I desperately hope that I can.

"I am not your enemy… I am not your friend but I can be whatever is in between," I say breathlessly, positioning myself directly between Enobaria and Johanna.

Primrose emerges from the shadows and adds, " _Please_ ," in a sweet tone that even someone as cold as Enobaria Whitethorn could not deny.

Johanna holds out her hand. "We'll do a trial period, and if I'm dissatisfied I'm killing this bitch."

Enobaria raises her eyebrows but swallows her pride and shakes Johanna's hand. "Deal."

I finally can breathe again.

[X]

I shout in the middle of yet another argument between Johanna and Enobaria, "I can fight! I need to fight! I'm killing the kid who killed my brother!"

Enobaria has that aura of a rattlesnake yet again as she orders, "You're hiding when we attack the careers and that is final. You'll protect the kid or whatever."

My heart thunders as I stand up for myself. "I'm fighting. I need revenge and I deserve it. Why don't you want me to fight? You intend to kill me and kill Prim anyway!"

Enobaria frowns. "I know. I'm not letting Cashmere steal my rightful kills. I put up with your whining enough to deserve being the one to slit your throat."

"I can fight!" I yet again insist, hoping if I say it enough times that she will agree.

"No, no you can't. You'll slow us down," Enobaria explains, sounding agitated the entire time she speaks. I cannot blame her but I also cannot let her hold me back when I need my revenge.

"Johanna?" I beg.

Her mind clearly made up, "Abernathy half-drunk could fight better than you," snaps Johanna.

In a flash, Enobaria grabs her by the throat and pins her to the wall of the maze.

"What makes you think you can talk to Five like that?" Enobaria snarls. "We both may proudly be bitches but we're apparently allies now. Show the Flower Girl some respect."

Johanna breaks free and Enobaria steps back. I stare at them both, wide-eyed, shocked to the core about what just happened.

"I'll say what I wan," Johanna says, but she begins to walk again and doesn't pick a fight. She turns to look over her shoulder. "Five can handle it, can't she?"

"Yes," I whisper, squeezing Prim's cold little hand.

"Good." Johanna leads the way around the corner with her head held high.

I sigh.

[X]

We reach a problem after a full day of walking through the maze. Our sponsor gifts have been dwindling and our packs are running out of supplies. None of us say it, but the urgency to locate the Cornucopia has increased a hundredfold. And now we have a river blocking our way to the next part of the maze.

"It's a dead end," I lament, shrinking several sizes in grief and frustration.

"We're jumping," says Enobaria, glaring ahead with grand purpose.

I ask, voice quavering slightly, "What if we fall in?"

"Then we're swimming." Johanna grabs Primrose-whom screams-and leaps across the river. She makes it (barely) and helps Primrose up to her feet after stumbling to a stop.

I stare forward. No, no, no. This is how I lost Finnick.

Enobaria jumps before I can ask for her help.

I stare at them. They stare at me.

My allies wait, all growing more impatient every second I am rooted in place.

"Are you going to follow me or do I have to break your legs?" demands Enobaria.

Fear still glues me to the spot. I cannot do it. I simply cannot do it.

"I can't swim!" I plead, glancing over my shoulder, hoping to turn around and find another way across. I could make it on my own. I did it once; I can do it again.

"Then don't fall in!" Enobaria barks, drawing my attention back to the other side of the river.

I draw in a huge breath and then jump. But I do not make it across. I plunge feet first into the ice water and claw at the surface as soon as I can. Slowly, I sink, and sink, and as I try to tear myself up, I tangle my ankle on something. Was there anything here before?

I tug at the chain again and again, my tears absorbed by the frigid crystalline water, trying to untie myself but doing nothing but speeding up my drowning.

The moment I let go, decide to die, decide it'll all be okay anyway, that maybe I am better off, someone tears the chain from my body and swims to the surface, carrying me with her. Everything is so blurry that I do not see who saved my life until Enobaria helps me into Johanna's arms and climbs out of the water.

"Wha…? I don't know what… what to say."

Enobaria glares as she says, "Thank you would be a start."

I bow my head slightly. "Thank you."

[X]

A few minutes later, I sit in the maze, Johanna talks to Prim out of earshot, and Enobaria stares at me as she wrings out her curly black hair. I stare at her blankly, still processing her saving me.

"How do you know how to do that?" I choke.

Enobaria cavalierly explains, "I used to swim in the abandoned quarries in the summer, like every other kid in Two. At least one died each year from getting tangled in the equipment. I usually didn't care, but this one kid, this one girl was maybe seven or eight. She got tangled and I tried to help her. I had my knife on me and I tried to get her free with it."

"What happened?" I ask.

Silence.

Enobaria whispers, demure for possibly the first time in her life, and certainly for the first time as long as I have known her, "She drowned."

Silence.

"You're really pretty," I admit. "I can imagine why Clove loves you."

Enobaria leaps to her feet, looking about to beat me up. I impulsively flinch. "She doesn't love me for my looks, or my strength. She loves me because she spent years and years getting to know the real me first."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to devalue your relationship." I avert my eyes.

"You didn't'. I do also happen to be very beautiful." Enobaria turns to Johanna and Primrose, catching their attention merely with a glance. I gaze at her in sheer envy as she does it. "We need to keep moving towards the Cornucopia. Everyone get moving."

[X]

An hour later, "Stop," Johanna and Enobaria say in unison.

I freeze, grabbing Primrose and pulling her close to me. She looks up at me with those big blue eyes and I am hit with a surge of adrenaline.

"What is it?" Primrose whispers, clinging tightly to me. The girl's injuries have barely healed; she can hardly support herself, much less run from another fight.

"I hear someone," says Enobaria and Johanna solemnly nods at her.

Slowly, Enobaria and Johanna move forward. I expect the careers; I grip my knife tightly as I visualize killing the bastard who murdered my baby brother.

But then two men appear with their hands up in surrender.

"Haymitch!" pipes up Primrose, sighing in relief. I still hold onto her, regardless.

Beetee stands at his side. One of the lenses of his glasses is cracked. Haymitch looks even worse for wear than usual.

"Volts," says Johanna. "And the Town Drunk."

"They're with us," I insist, gently setting Primrose aside and stepping forward. "They can come to the Cornucopia with us."

"No one put you in charge, Flower Girl," snarls Johanna.

"No, they didn't, but I am in charge. I'm taking control of this operation and if you don't like it you can kill me," I declare with as much force as I can. I try my best to channel my wife's fierce energy.

"You're going to the Cornucopia?" inquires Haymitch. "That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard."

"We need supplies, "says Enobaria. "And I intend to kill the careers. We need them out of the way."

"So you can turn around and kill us?" Haymitch snorts.

"Yes," casually says Enobaria.

"Sol?" asks Beetee.

I purse my lips before allowing myself to loudly state, "I want to kill the boy who killed Fission, and all his friends."

Beetee frowns at me, like a disapproving father. I want to hit him. "Revenge is your motive, then?"

"Yeah," I say, clenching my fists so tightly that my well-filed nails dig into my sweaty palms.

Beetee softly and patronizingly touches my shoulder. "The thing about that is that you'll get your revenge, you'll kill him, and then you'll find out you're still angry."

"I don't care if I'm angry my whole life as long as I get to kill him."

Beetee frowns, but stops protesting.

"The plan is settled," states Enobaria. "Let's get moving."

No one argues with the fanged woman.

[X]

The anthem blares. The first face in the sky stuns me; it is the boy from District One. I have no idea who killed him, but I hope it hurt. Thankfully, the boy I intend to kill is still alive, because the pictures skip to the remaining tribute from District Six, the remaining tribute from District Eight and the remaining tribute from District Nine.

I count in my head. Cashmere is alive from One, the boy who killed my brother and Enobaria from Two are alive, Beetee is alive from Three, Finnick from Four, me from Five, Johanna from Seven, Haymitch and Prim are alive from Twelve. There is very little wiggle room left.

I feel my alliance will break soon. The crowds will tire quickly if too many of us refuse to kill the others.

I'm barely asleep when I suddenly feel a hand pressed against my mouth. My muffled scream rings in my ears as I struggle against muscular arms.

"Sol," whispers Finnick Odair, "I'm getting you out of here. You need to get away from all these people. There's too many and too few kills. Hurry up; let's go."

Enobaria purrs, "You will do no such thing."

Finnick steps back from me and raises his trident. "It isn't your choice, Whitethorn," growls Finnick.

The entire camp wakes before someone could snap their fingers.

Finnick Odair versus Enobaria Whitethorn; the Capitol must be thrilled right now.

"Please-" I begin, but they are on each other in combat before I can finish my thought.

They begin to fight. Trident versus knives. It happens in a fashion not unlike Enobaria and Johanna's clash yesterday. The moment Finnick lands a hit from the back of his trident, knocking the winds from Enobaria. She stands up and throws a knife that plunges into his shoulder. She runs forward, knees him in the groin and whips out the knife to block the incoming blow from the trident.

Finnick moves forward to pierce her and she dodges, kicking his feet out from under him. He pops up and smacks the dagger out of her hand. She reaches into her belt for a new one but Finnick suddenly drops his trident.

A mist has rolled in while we were distracted by the fight. I inhale it slowly and find it smells sweet, like a pastry I may have tried in the Capitol at some point.

"Annie?" he breathes. And then he shouts, "Annie!" as he frantically spins around.

"Eff… Effie?" Haymitch's eyes widen. I watch him try to resist something almost invisible, but then his leg tears him towards the opposite direction in the maze we intend to walk into.

Primrose screams, dragged by the same invisible rope, "Momma!"

And then I understand the madness, because I hear Clove screaming for my help. I feel it tearing at my navel. _Need_. A need that I cannot explain. The Capitol cannot manage magic but Clove calls and calls for me to come meet up with her, and that rope pulls and pulls to give me little choice.

"Clove!" I cry out, but strong sepia arms wrap around me to stop me from running. "We have to help her! Don't you hear that?"

"It's not real," hisses Enobaria. She can resist. Why can she resist?

Haymitch, Finnick and Beetee are gone in the maze, running after Effie, Annie and Wiress, people I haven't thought about yet. I still hear Clove screaming, begging me to come find her. Begging. It is overpowering. Johanna grabs Primrose to keep her in place as she tries to dash after her mother, the frail blonde I remember from my victory tour.

I stop struggling against Enobaria's iron grip when the maze walls groan and shift, closing us off from the three men. The screaming stops and I step away from my wife's mistress.

"Girl gang it is," drawls Johanna Mason, glancing around. "I've heard of this stuff. It's a drug. Maybe it's in the mist. It directs rats in mazes. Must be, I s'pose. And jabberjays? Recordings? Something for those voices you psychos heard."

I do not ask her how she knows all of that. She sounds quite like she has firsthand experience with it and I doubt President Snow has ever been reluctant to physically torture his victors as well as emotionally.

"What was that?" Primrose asks through her tears.

"I'm sure your mom is fine," I say, striding towards her.

"She's all I have." Primrose takes in a deep breath and stops crying. "Are they hurting her? Is she really here like she said in my head?"

"I doubt it.. It's just an illusion, part of the maze."

"Screwing with the people we love. Classy move," snarls Enobaira.

"Get over it," says Johanna. "They had to break up our overcrowded alliance somehow."

"Did you hear Clove too?" I ask Enobaria.

"Yes, but I'm sure she'ls alright. She's too popular to throw back into the Games."

I am skeptical, of course. They would love the object of Enobaria and I's affections to be a witness, to be involved. I think they would find the drama hilarious and juicy.

"No one is off limits," says Johanna, and I nod in agreement.

Enobaria glares and scoffs, "Oh, right, because you're so worried about whoever you heard."

Johanna calmly says, "I didn't hear anyone."

"Even you aren't that callous and emotionally stunted," flippantly remarks Enobaria, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

"There's no one left I love," says Johanna Mason, and tears swell in Primrose's big blue eyes.

Johanna's statement ends any prospect of further discussion.

Enobaria says, "Come on; we still have a Cornucopia to find."

[X]

We make it to the Cornucopia with surprising ease after the incident with the screaming loved ones. It makes me wary. I hold my knife and Primrose as tightly as I can as we slowly and silently approach the career camp from behind.

They do not notice us. Not yet, at least.

Johanna comments, "Two against two. A fair fight."

"Two against four," I hiss.

"No. Prim is staying back here with you," orders Enobaria.

I insist fiercely, squeezing Primrose's hand. "We're coming too. We have scores to settle, more than you."

Enobaria says, perhaps lying perhaps not, "Oh, trust me, I've known Cashmere long enough to have more scores to settle than you could dream of."

"Let them come," says Johanna, glancing at Primrose and I with disdain. "It's better that they die at the hands of the careers than ours."

We stride forward slowly. Enobaria holds up a closed fist and shoots a glance that Johanna seems to understand, because she takes a silent step back and grabs Primrose with her left hand and me with her right hand.

Enobaria crawls over the Cornucopia and I hear her drop down. As Johanna creeps around the corner with Primrose and I, we see Enobaria with her knife to Cashmere's throat, and Cashmere pointing a sword at the boy from Two.

"I dare you to get me killed, little boy," hisses Cashmere through her flawless white teeth.

Enobaria tightens her grip. "You should be daring me. I'm the one with the knife to your throat. However, little boy, stand down and maybe we can have a fair fight instead of me slitting Cashmere's throat and Johanna Mason chopping your worthless head off with an axe."

"No," stammers the boy. I did not know such monsters as he could feel fear.

"You're not going to make me count to three are you?" asks Enobaria. "Because I can't count that high."

And there I stand. Beside Johanna and Primrose and Enobaria, the careers right across from our mess. My eyes drift from Cashmere's beauty—even while filthy and tired—to the boy who killed my baby brother.

He starts to slowly raise his crossbow, and I dive forward. Primrose and Johanna both grab for me - the latter pulling out a chunk of my hair - and I plunged my knife into his neck. He let out a warbled scream as blood flowed from his lips. The boy dropped his crossbow and I jumped on top of him, pulling the knife out of his carotid and starting to stab him in the chest.

He needs to die in my arms. The last thing he sees before he dies should be my face.

I keep plunging the knife into his chest. Over and over, even after the cannon fires.

Johanna Mason pulls me off of my brother's killer, finally. She turns me to face her. "He's gone. It's done."

I bite my lip and nod. But I realize at that moment that Beetee was right. I got my revenge.

But I am still angry.

Enobaria tosses Cashmere in Johanna's direction, everyone but Primrose keeping weapons pointed towards her as Enobaria barks an order.

"Tie her up."

"Why?" Johanna starts to raise her axe.

"Because little Foxy got her revenge and I want mine," says Enobaria with steely eyes that challenged all of us to defy her.

We didn't, of course. We knew Cashmere would be dead and maybe, maybe she deserved a slow death.

Johanna grabs rope from the career's fishing kit and finishes tying knots worthy of Finnick Odair around Cashmere's wrists and steps back, just as Enobaria walks forward, sauntering closer to her former ally.

"Time to die, princess," growls Enobaria, the monster clearly taking over, in her eyes, I saw pure hatred and in her lips I saw true resentment.

"Admit it. You'll miss me." Cashmere winks, and then breaks free. I stumble back. Enobaria raises a knife and takes down the District 1 tribute in an instant. In a flurry of blonde hair and tanned skin, she hits the ground, still breathing, but barely.

"Not at this range, I won't," Enobaria states, smirking gleefully.

No cannon fires. Enobaria suddenly turns to me.

"And now we finish this little game," she says. She spins and slashes open Johanna's arm, then Prim's little wrist, and just as I raise my hand to try to defend myself, she slashes open my arm and drags her nails on the inside of my body.

I let out a scream as the lights suddenly go out.

It all goes out - the entire arena - like someone flipped a switch.

Or, I realize as I nurse my injured arm, biting back tears, someone blew up a dam.

Isn't this what my mother tried to make happen?

What she died trying to make happen?

It was.

Oh, it was, it was, it was.

* * *

 _ **CLOVE**_

* * *

Sip. Hiss from pain. Sip. Hiss from pain.

"I promise this drink is my last one," I say to Brutus.

We sit in the District Two lodgings at the Tribute Center. An avox had a drink for me; I requested an entire pitcher and have been drinking right out of it for almost an hour. The television has been showing solely recaps with a few glimpses into the Arena when anything of note happens. My livestream of Enobaria and Foxy is downstairs and so I'm stuck trying not to listen to the television.

If only the Capitol were kind enough to give it an off button.

Brutus stares at me for a moment. I feel his eyes boring into me. "I've seen this before."

I scoff. "A drunk with vampire fangs?"

"Yeah," he says, and I finally look up to meet his gaze. "Your girl, my mentee. I walked into her house when she didn't leave for a good week after winning. She had saliva dripping from her mouth like some dying animal, a peacekeeper's stolen gun pressed to her temple. I told her to pull herself together or just pull the trigger."

My skin crawls as I inquire, "What did she do?"

Brutus gives a hollow laugh and slowly shakes his head, as if reliving something bittersweet. I think I know what he is about to say and it disturbs me to the core.

"She pulled the trigger," he at last says. "Just didn't know how to turn off the safety, else she'd be dead long before she fucked up her whole life by fucking you."

"Shit," I murmur, unable to offer anything more elegant.

"Yeah. Her first victor, the first girl who she led to victory, she didn't die of a heart attack. She killed herself. Enobaria said she heard her screaming after slitting her wrists but she didn't save her. She thought it would be better to let the girl die." Brutus grimaces. I have never seen him _react_ like that to anything and therefore my heart begins to race.

"I remember her," I say quietly, glowering at the mostly-empty pitcher in front of me. "I looked up to her. Thought she was murdered."

Brutus coldly asks, "So, Conium, if I got you a gun, would you pull the trigger?"

"No."

"Then find some way to make yourself human until the Games are over and you're back in your cushy little Capitol apartment."

"My cushy little Capitol apartment with no one left I love. Sounds great," I say, sneering at his ridiculous suggestion.

Brutus shrugged off my anger. "Shut it and get back to mentoring. You have a press conference in three hours. Switch to coffee."

He leaves the room without another word.

I pop two painkillers, the last I have in my bottle, and follow my partner's advice.

[X]

Egeria, President Snow's most beloved aide, guides me down a long hallway after sitting in awkward silence with me inside of a limousine leading away from the Tribute Center. I now stood in a building with pearly white columns and obnoxious people gawking at me.

"I need more pain meds," I demand of her as the peacekeepers walk me to my press conference. "I can't talk right when my teeth hurt like this."

"We're weaning you off. You're worth too much to bcome an addict," says Egeria coldly. "Now get in front of the press and answer their questions like a proper victor."

"I don't know if you've noticed but I'm not a proper anything."

"Take the tough girl attitude and shove it if you wat either of your girls to come home intact."

I cannot argue. My teeth hurt, my head hurts, my heart hurts. I am tired. The kind of tired that sleep does not fix.

I walk through the door into the press briefing. Egeria directs me to a seat directly below the spotlight. Slowly, I exhale a puff of stressed air.

The questions begin as Egeria calls on reporters.

"Why did you choose to do this to your teeth?" asks one.

I lean in towards the microphone and say, "Because people are stupid and just want to be loved. That's the only reason anyone does anything."

Another inquires loudly and uninvited, "Loved by Enobaria or loved by Sol?"

"I love them both." My voice shakes as I make that assertion.

"Do you approve of Solanine and Enobaria's alliance?" asks a scrawny bespectacled man.

"Yes," I say with great assertion and gusto. "I'd rather see them working together than tearing each other apart."

Another demands, "If you had to choose only one to live, which would it be?"

"What kind of question is that?" I pound my fist on the table and all of the ridiculous water glasses rattle.

A reporter asks, undeterred, "So you're still indecisive?"

I start to stand up but Enobaria grabs my knee and pushes me back down. "I am not indecisive. I just can't imagine living without either of them because I'm not a monster."

"Do the fangs hurt?" asks a fat man.

I hiss, "Not as much as they would hurt you if I sank them into your throat."

"Do you regret marrying Solanine?"

That's it. I'm done. I'm going to lose it no matter the consequences. I shout, "Do you regret playing got your nose with a hog and never giving it back?"

Egeria uncomfortably clears her throat. But this is my image as a victor. I can be brutal and cruel as long as I am never treasonous.

The questions keep coming.

[X]

Egeria leaves me in Brutus's company once I am back in the Tribute Center. We walk past numerous Capitolians laughing over their drinks and watching the Games on the countless television screens. I try not to look at them, not after that exhausting event.

Someone grabs my arm and I impulsively clench my fist before remembering I am not supposed to punch any of these assholes. He's an unattractive but overconfident man with too much plastic surgery.

"You must be tired," he says, "because you've been running around in my mind all day."

I don't know how to respond to that, to tell the truth. "Thanks?"

I'm trying to be more polite. It obviously isn't working, judging on the way Brutus snickers.

"Are you here all by your lonesome?" he drawls with a disgusting teasing smile.

I scowl at him. "No. I'm dogged by cameras during my every waking moment."

"I would love to sponsor Enobaria," he says with an awkward wink.

"Yeah?" I ask, uncertain if he offers a bad thing or a good thing.

He drawls, "In exchange for an evening of your time."

"No thanks. I'm booked." I glare daggers at the man but it does not deter him.

He grabs my arm tighter as I try to leave.

He inquires, "And what am I supposed to do this afternoon without your company?"

"Maybe you can learn to breathe through your nose," I retort as I shake his weak Capitolían grip off of me with ease.

Brutus chuckles as we walk back to the elevator and head to the Mentor Lounge to watch the Games.

[X]

 _"Clove will love whichever one of us comes back."_

I stare at the screen without watching any of it, expression blank, stunned speechless. Does she believe that about me? Do they really think that this is a way of settling a love triangle?

I had thought their scheme of fighting to the death for my hand was for the cameras and the cameras alone. But maybe they truly believed it. Maybe that really was their plan.

Maybe they both think I am disgusting enough to oblige, to just love whoever comes back with not regrets.

Maybe… maybe I am. Maybe I would just settle for whoever was there.

But how could I look at her without thinking of the other? How could I kiss her and not miss the lips of the one lost in the Arena? Is it better that I get one back or is it better that I let them go?

Should I let them go?

No, no, no. I can't.

I can't let them go.

[X]

I am drinking my pain away on the Second Floor Apartment when the doorbell rings. It cannot be good news. I cannot imagine ever receiving good news again in my life. Not since I became a victor. After setting down my glass, I stand up and walk over to open the door.

"President Snow," I say coolly, stepping back into the apartment and closing the door behind him. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Since you prefer to skip pleasantries and get directly to the point, I am having a televised dinner party for the victors," says President Snow. "I would like for you to be our host. The whole of Panem will be watching, so it's an excellent opportunity for you."

"When is it?" I ask under my breath.

"In two hours," he crisply informs with a flicker of a smile. I'll have you escorted to the premises and we can dress you up for the occasion."

I huff. "I'm not a doll for you to dress up."

"If you want either of your loves to live, you will be one."

Well, that gives me no choice but to keep my mouth shut, although doing so pains me to the soul.

[X]

I stand in front of the mirror. They straightened my hair and sprayed it with glitter. My olive skin glistens from the clear sparkly lotion they slathered on me. The nameless stylists undress me and drape a skimpy black dress over my body. They strap me into high heels and as the finishing touch a woman with light pink hair straps a choker on my neck. It drips with rubies and makes it look as if my throat were slit.

I adjust the uncomfortable lacy push up bra and look away from the mirror. I expected to see stylists but instead I see Cordelia Shepherd.

"They're dressing you up to be sold," she rasps, shaking her head at me. My face contorted into a vicious sneer at the sight of her. She has yet to bother with talking to me, and now she shows up simply to try to frighten me.

I ask slowly, giving her a chance to retract her statement, "What?"

"As soon as they kill off Sol and Enobaria, that's what they'll do." She is brave, I will give her that.

"That isn't going to happen!" I shout, panic hitting me like a tidal wave.

Cordelia walks to me and sets her hands on my shoulders. I do not shrug her off. "It won't have to if you make this dinner memorable. You should give a speech. All good hosts do. Give a speech that holds the attention of Panem even if a dam explodes behind them."

I furrow my brow. Her words are many layered and laced with a certain affected tone.

"Sol is better at those," I say, knowing… knowing I cannot do it.

Cordelia's eyes gleam as she whispers, "Sol isn't here. It's time to step up. She's not the only Soldier of Light, if you would just be reasonable and put on the boots."

I give a slow nod. I can only hope that Cordelia knows more about dealing with the brewing revolution than I do.

[X]

I walk into the dining room of victors, mentors for the Quell. It looks more like the set of a television program than a dinner party; never have I seen anything that appeared more staged. I set my hand on Gloss's broad shoulder. It is time. I practiced my speech in my head over and over while the limo drove me here. I know this will get me killed or worse, but I need to do it.

It's a double bind; I suffer either way.

The fangs still ache in my mouth.

I know President Snow wants to kill Enobaria and Foxy regardless. He is a man used to getting what he wants, but he will not be for much longer.

I walk forward smoothly, a slight jaunt and swagger in my steady step, and turn to face the dining table of victors.

"Let me ask you this," I begin in a smooth purr, "Is this really where we belong? It's true, we put on a good show for all of Panem, and we have fun doing it, sometimes. But is this really what we deserve? To curl at the feet of our masters? We are so much more than slaves. We are brothers and sisters. We share the same struggle. And the truth is, they are weak. And we are strong," I say, and then I turn to the camera, to the people of Panem. "This message isn't just for the victors. Raise up your arms. Turn your weapons to the Capitol. And let's all put on a good fucking show."

I smile at the cameras just before the needle jabs into my neck and everything goes black.


End file.
